


rock, paper, scissors

by interstellarbeams



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: American Revolution, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Inauguration of President Herbert Hoover, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Matchmaking, Multi-Era, Oregon Trail, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon Fix-It, Pre-Relationship, Rittenhouse Agent Jessica Logan, Sharing a Bed, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-09-21 06:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17038478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellarbeams/pseuds/interstellarbeams
Summary: Rufus doesn’t know how to fix his friends’ relationship, but coming back from the dead can really give you a new perspective so maybe a few games of rock, paper, scissors can fix what they can’t quite manage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is the monster fic that I haven’t shut up about on Twitter and have been writing for the last three months. Actually the idea formulated in May but I never quite got off the ground until I went back to it in October and inspiration hit. It’s _still_ not done but as an early Christmas/Timeless Movie Event gift, I wanted to go ahead and start posting it. 
> 
> This fic starts off after Rufus is saved, no details though, because I’m still not sure how the show will bring him back and I’m not _that_ creative. LOL
> 
> Thank you Gretchen and Lizzie for all your help and encouragement! Love y’all! <3

_love isn’t always fun and games, but sometimes it is_

—————

He hadn’t really meant to start it, not intentionally anyways, but he saw how Lucy’s eyes followed Wyatt’s every move but quickly shifted away when he turned her way. Wyatt was a lot less discreet but Rufus also shared a room with the man whose dark, under eye circles and constant tossing and turning reminded Rufus daily of his friend’s constant struggle with his unrelenting guilt. 

Rufus knew that he had to do something to get his two friends back together...

Standing in the foyer of a less than mediocre motel in 1966 and realizing that two queen sized beds meant Lucy had to sleep with one of the guys. Rufus knew that Wyatt would flip a lid if Flynn got anywhere near Lucy in that capacity, so he fibbed a little.

“Man,” Rufus dropped his arms dramatically, pacing back in forth, or as much as he could in the small space available, with three other people and the desk clerk crammed in together. “No offense, Flynn, but you’ve been giving me a creepy vibe lately.” 

Turning to Lucy, he stage whispered, “I _cannot_ sleep next to that guy plus he still hasn’t apologized for trying to kill me.” 

“Not this again.” Flynn rolled his eyes, “I’ll be in the car until you’re done with your middle school drama.” 

As soon as the door closed behind Flynn, with a creak, Wyatt emphatically stated that he couldn’t stand to share with Flynn either.

Lucy leaned against the nearest wall and crossed her arms, preparing to wait, apparently, but Rufus had a genius idea… rock, paper, scissors.

“I guess we’ll have to duke it out,” Rufus raised his fist like he was about to strike.

Wyatt blew out an irritated breath, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “Rufus, I’m not gonna fight you.” 

Rufus laughed, genuinely amused at Wyatt’s assumption that he wanted to fist fight _him_ over a bed. 

“Nah, _man_ ,” Rufus raised his fist again, “Let’s rock, paper, scissors it out!”

“Really, Rufus? What are we eight years old?” 

“Just do it, Wyatt!” Lucy straightened up, and sticking her foot out gestured to her high heel boots. “My feet are killing me after standing with those Vietnam protesters for hours. I’d like to get to a room where I can rest.”

“Fine.” Wyatt huffed, and held out his own fist.

“One, two, three, _go_!” They smacked their fists into their other palm. Rufus held out rock and Wyatt had paper. 

“Aw man! This sucks!” Rufus complained, crossing his arms with a pout like a whining four year old but he stepped out of the way so Wyatt and Lucy could pay for the room. “Stupid Flynn and his stupid hipster turtlenecks.”

The faint sound of music played from the radio behind the desk, the lyrics sticking in Rufus’s mind as he watched Wyatt and Lucy: _Do I have to keep on talking till I can't go on?_  
_While you see it your way,_  
_Run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone._

 

 _We Can Work It Out_ , of course, they could! Rufus knew they could, he just needed to give them a little shove. It would work, wouldn’t it? It _had_ to!

Lucy shot Rufus a warning look before turning to glance at Wyatt who was trying to hold back an amused grin as he stuck the change, the bored desk clerk handed him, in his wallet. 

Once inside the room, they all kinda stood around awkwardly, not looking at each other. Of course, they had all been on trips before and stayed in hotels with family members. Back home they still lived in the bunker and shared a disgusting retro bathroom but somehow these close quarters had everyone on edge.

Rufus cleared his throat, then switched the tv on automatically before settling down on the edge of the closest bed. Flynn shot Rufus and the TV a disgusted look before removing his grey polyester coat and throwing it over a nearby chair, rolling up his sleeves with brisk motions he escaped into the bathroom, leaving the original Time Team alone for a few moments. 

Lucy sat on the side of the bed and removed her boots, the clunk of them hitting the floor was partially drowned out by the water running in the bathroom and the sounds of the tv. Wyatt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before he sat on the other side of the bed and removed his shoulder holsters.

The silence between them was awkward and Rufus continued to flick through the channels, an audible whump sounding every time the channel switched. The tv reception was nothing less than archaic but Rufus wasn’t so young that he didn’t remember having to cross the room to change the channel.

“Oh my god! Guys, _guys_ , it’s the original Batman tv show! In its first season on a tv in 1966. Jiya’s gonna be so jealous,” Rufus laughed, glancing over at Wyatt and Lucy. Lucy smiled at him, reflexively, before turning away to lift the retro avocado green covers and slide underneath them. She turned on her side, facing away from the door, with her back to them. _Dang, girl_ , Rufus thought, _that’s definitely the cold shoulder_. Rufus knew enough about Lucy and her moods, from the time spent together in the bunker, to know that this wasn’t a typical Lucy reaction.

The bathroom door clicked as the lock was disengaged and Flynn strode back in, his hair wet from an apparent shower. “What?” he asked, as he took in their stares, “I had to get the stench of unwashed hippie out of my hair.” 

Rufus turned back to Wyatt with a ‘what the hell?” look, “It’s good to know that hygiene is on the top of your list but these sheets don’t look like they’ve been washed since the Salem Witch Trials and you know how bad that was…” Rufus trailed off, “Oh wait, that’s right, Lucy and I were imprisoned with the disease ridden blankets while you were off looking for a musket.” 

Flynn stared at Rufus for a moment, a incomprehensible look on his face, “That weapon saved your ass and I remember a certain moment in 1919, as well, where I saved your life.”

Pulling back the covers rather violently, almost unseating Rufus who still perched on the end of the bed, he punched his pillow a few times before laying down himself.

Rufus gave Wyatt a “now what” look but Wyatt just shrugged, removed his shoes and carefully settled under the covers, his movements slow and measured so as not to disturb a sleeping Lucy, or at least, Rufus assumed she was asleep.

 _Well, guess it’s that time_ , Rufus got up and turned the tv off with a click of the switch. Shrugging to himself and grateful to have a roof over his head for the night, he snuggled down under the covers before clicking off the single lamp on the nightstand.

—————

Rufus was startled awake by a very loud bang, presumably a door slamming and not the report of a gun being fired in the motel parking lot. Rufus turned to his side, surprised to see the breadth of Wyatt’s back instead of the watchful blue eyes he had expected after the abruptness of the door slamming next door. _Weird_ , Rufus thought to himself as he threw the covers back and stood up from the bed.

Crossing the small space between the two beds, he came to stand next to the queen that Wyatt and Lucy were sharing. He felt awkward as he bent over his friend, who was wrapped around Lucy like his life depended on being as close to her as possible, the apparent reason for why he hadn’t immediately wakened when the door slamming woke Rufus up. That Wyatt felt so comfortable with Lucy that he slept the sleep of the dead, was unsurprising to Rufus who knew just how bad Wyatt’s guilt was and how many sleepless nights he had recently spent without relief. 

Tapping Wyatt on the shoulder, Rufus glanced back over his shoulder, relieved to see that Flynn was still asleep, for now.

“Wyatt,” Rufus whispered, when his tapping failed to rouse the soldier, he whispered louder, “Wake up.”

Wyatt finally groaned, opening his eyes after Rufus’s continual onslaught of pokes and whispers.

“What is it now, Rufus?” Wyatt mumbled, voice deep and scratchy from sleep. 

“Dude, um— _well_ ,” Rufus gestured down to Wyatt’s arm wrapped around Lucy’s waist.

“Spit it out, Carlin, or I’ll do it for you.” Flynn’s voice carried across the room, scaring Rufus who had assumed the man was still asleep. 

Rufus whirled around to face a grumpy looking Flynn, “Don’t do that! You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“I highly doubt it,” Flynn drawled as he sat in the corner chair and pulled on his shoes, tightening the laces as he went, “Unless you keep ingesting those chemical laden Crocodile things you love so much, then you might have a problem.”

Rufus was offended. Chocodiles were delicious and nothing could convince him otherwise, a irritable Flynn, who’s opinion didn’t count for much in his book anyways, was definitely not going to change his mind. 

“I’ll forgive that slight on my Chocodiles, if you let me drive the Cadillac today.” 

“Rufus— what’s going on? What are you talking about Cadillac’s an- and Chocodiles,” Lucy asked, as she tried to smother a yawn behind her hand, peering  
up at Rufus and then to Wyatt who she had not been quite so close to when she fell asleep.

Wyatt immediately released her when he realized that he had been holding her to him. Lucy threw back the covers, her head bent so that her hair shielded most of her face as she grabbed up her white go go boots and fringed vest.

“Uh, sorry,” Wyatt mumbled, as he watched Lucy retreat into the bathroom, the door closing with an audible slam.

Rufus winced in sympathy as he watched Wyatt’s shoulders slump but he couldn’t even think of anything clever to say to ease the tension of the moment.

Rufus flinched when Lucy flew out of the bathroom like a whirling dervish, fringe swaying jerkily as she practically stomped across the room, her boots on and her hair combed neatly.

The silence was awkward. Flynn stood next to the only chair in the room while Rufus and Wyatt basically huddled between the two beds, their eyes on anything but an embarrassed Lucy as she crossed to the motel room door. 

“I’m gonna get coffee,” she stated, as she dug in her purse and tossed the car keys at Flynn, “You’re driving.” 

The door closed with a click and Rufus was left alone with his dejected friend.

—————

“So yeah, that was _awkward_ ,” Rufus admitted later, standing in the middle of the room that he and Wyatt occupied. Lucy and Flynn hadn’t returned yet and the two men were attempting to wait on their return, with the car, to get back to the mission and back home by that afternoon.

“Shut up, man,” Wyatt groaned, pulling the nearby pillow over his head.

“Well, I mean, it wasn’t that bad, at least it wasn’t captured on TMZ, that would suck majorly, or happened on live tv like that extremely weird kiss between Madonna and Drake,” Rufus shuddered comically. 

“Rufus! You’re not helping!” 

Wyatt sat up, tossed the pillow beside him  
on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. 

“She probably hates me. Why did this happen to us, Rufus? How did _I_ let this happen?” 

“Because Rittenhouse are a bunch of dicks who couldn’t believe that their precious pure blood princess wouldn’t side with them, couldn’t fathom that we were actively fighting against them and found a crack that they could widen and eventually break up the team, starting with the closest members and moving onto me and Jiya,” Rufus shoved his hands in his pockets, a frown creasing his forehead as he stared down at his broken friend, “You gotta admit, for a evil cult they strategize _pretty_ well.”

Wyatt huffed out a watery laugh but didn’t move from his hunched over position.

“Also, I know you loved Jessica, that she was your wife but choosing to let her into our _secret_ bunker, that was pretty idiotic,” Rufus continued, “and lying to me and to Lucy about it, after we asked you to tell us if you had any suspicions, dumb move.” 

Wyatt groaned, “You think I don’t know that… I _feel_ so guilty about that but I couldn’t convince myself to let her go and once I tried to get her to leave, she did but not in the way I thought she _ever_ would.”

The sound of the air conditioning turning on filled the room with a hum, the creaking of the old air conditioning unit reminding them both of the antiquity of their current safe haven.

“And I broke Lucy’s heart in the process.” Wyatt’s groan sounded more like a pained whimper, “How could I do that to her, Rufus? She’s put up with so much shit from me. I don’t know how I can ever get her to trust me again. Not after everything I did. I pushed her away, the woman I love and let a carbon copy of my late wife take her place. How do you apologize for that? How do I make _that_ right?” 

“You’ll figure it out, dude, and then you’ll get her back,” Rufus spoke up, sitting down across from Wyatt, “You belong together.” 

“I’m starting to think that the universe wants us apart.” Wyatt stated matter of fact, lifting his head and spearing Rufus with his tearful blue eyes. 

“Hey, cheer up buddy, at least you aren’t dead yet,” Rufus chuckled at his own joke, “There’s plenty of time for that. We do have a time machine after all.” 

Wyatt rolled his eyes, “You really are horrible at this.”

Rufus shrugged, “What do you want from me? I’m not a therapist. I’m sure Agent Christopher will hire one if you ask her to but I don’t know if they’ll be able to keep ‘man’s wife comes back from the dead through the miracle of time travel’ under wraps. Then they would probably sell the story to the National Enquirer, have their ass throw in jail by Homeland Security and you’ll become an American folk tale legend. In all honesty, i’ve seen worse awkward moments but this wallpaper,” Rufus gestured at the burnt orange damask wallpaper that was peeling off the walls, “the _worst_.”

Wyatt stared at him, a detached expression on his face, as Rufus rambled. Rufus trailed off after a moment of awkward silence, “I tried, dude.”

“Thanks,” Wyatt’s mouth lifted with the hint of a smile, “In your own way you kinda did help.” 

Wyatt returned his gaze to his interlocked fingers and a comfortable silence settled between them like an old dog coming to rest it’s head on your leg.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s chapter 2! I know this is short but the next chapter will be plenty worth the wait with lots of Lyatt! ;) I hope y’all enjoy and tell me what you think! <3
> 
> OMG though guys! TOMORROW is the movie! Are you ready? I’m not ready! I’m freaking out!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The next overnight trip is a lot less appealing for Rufus… portraying a black freedman during the Revolutionary War doesn’t have many perks and a stay in a nicely appointed room at an inn is out of the question but he tries to make the best of it.

Wyatt and Lucy shoot each other apologetic looks after Rufus suggests that they play at being husband and wife again — Flynn was tending to a horse with a thrown shoe at the time so he hadn’t had a chance to express his opinion on the role play — besides Rufus reasoned, he was much better at playing the creepy uncle.

Playing porter to the “happy” couple, Rufus brought up their bags which were borrowed from an unattended carriage and deposited them next to the large carved cherrywood wardrobe. Eyeing the weird piece of furniture in the corner that supported two china bowls with matching floral motifs, he wondered what they were for. Lucy probably knew.

“Rufus? Did you hear me?” 

“ _Huh_? What? I mean,” Rufus snuck a look at the disapproving innkeeper, “Ma’am?” 

“I think I forgot something downstairs, will you go and fetch it for me?” Lucy asked, winking awkwardly at a confused Rufus. He frowned in confusion when she winked again, subtlety canting her head toward the door.

“Yes, of course,” he replied, before turning smartly and exiting the room. He walked down the back staircase and dodged around multiple servants in the middle of various jobs before he finally made it to the stables.

Despite the amount of horses in the very large stable it smelled like new hay and oiled leather tack. Thankfully the stablehands had everything in tip top shape or Rufus would have been a less than happy camper. 

Rufus followed the empty stalls down to the end where their horses were stabled and spying Flynn’s tall form he sidled up to him. 

“Uh, Flynn… I’m pretty sure Lucy wants to speak with you,” He scratched the back of his neck, under his felt hat. Sweat crawled it’s way down his back under his homespun shirt and he itched to be able to scratch it but he figured that Flynn wouldn’t be a purveyor of “you scratch my back, i’ll scratch yours.” He barely tolerated Rufus in his best mood.

“Pretty _sure_?” Flynn drawled in his accent, glancing over his shoulder, before he turned to face Rufus. 

“Well, she said that she forgot something and kinda winked at me, so I assumed that meant you,” Rufus shrugged. 

“Fine, watch Fiona and make sure she isn’t favoring that left foreleg.” 

Rufus shot Flynn an incredulous look. 

“It’s the one in the front…” 

“I know what a foreleg is, Flynn,” Rufus scoffed, pulling a barrel closer to sit on, “I’m not a neanderthal. I just didn’t know the horses had names.”

Flynn stared at him, impassively, his fingertips tapping against his leg, “They do now. Watch _her_!” 

“ _Touchy_ ,” Rufus muttered under his breath as Flynn strode away.

————

 

After what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes — overstimulated modern brains were not setup to deal with moments of inactivity, or at least his wasn’t — Flynn came back, fingers clenched tight into fists at his sides.

“What did she want?” Rufus asked, as soon as he was within earshot. 

“ _Nothing_ ,” Flynn ground out through gritted teeth.

“Are you sure?” 

“It was nothing important, Rufus.” Flynn scratched at one eyebrow, irritation clear as day on his face.

Stepping around the edge of the stall he picked up a curry brush and started brushing the pretty palomino horse. Rufus watched him for a moment, as soon as Flynn’s shoulders started relaxing he opened his mouth.

“I’m sleeping out here with you tonight, Rufus, okay? That’s what she had to say to me.” Flynn hung up the brush in the tack room and then sat down against the slatted wall. Combing his bangs out of the way with his fingers, he leaned back, settled his crossed hands against his stomach and looked about ready to fall asleep.

“That’s where you’re sleeping,” Rufus asked, preparing to jump out of the way if Flynn decided that he had heard enough of his jabbering and threw a horseshoe at him. He really couldn’t help it though, he was a curious person by nature and when he got nervous he talked even more.

“I was going to try.” Flynn sighed, sitting up again, his words sharp and clipped.

“Aww! No room in the inn for Flynn,” Rufus eyes brightened, mischievously, “Hey, I was a poet and I didn’t even know it!”

“I did it again!” Rufus cackled, at Flynn’s unamused face.

The hay underneath him was sharp as it poked through the thin, homespun of his pants legs and he decided that he really didn’t want to sleep on a proverbial bed of nails all night.

“I’ll be right back,” He added, standing up and making his way out of the stable. He slapped at his pants legs to remove most of the straw before entering the side door of the inn.

Squeezing past a smiling and super friendly maid in the hall, Rufus opened the door to Wyatt and Lucy’s room, for the night, without even knocking. 

What he saw shocked him, Lucy in the bed with Wyatt straddling her. “What the hell! What are you—“ Rufus sputtered, preparing to shield his eyes if necessary.

“Easy, Rufus,” Wyatt stepped away from Lucy, smiling brighter than Rufus had  
seen in a long time.

That Lucy was laughing suddenly registered in Rufus’s ears. Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she pressed her hand to her chest, her voice breathless with laughter, “I tripped on my stupid skirt and Wyatt tried to catch me and then we just, well, you saw where we ended up.”

“We really can’t let her walk anywhere on her own,” Wyatt teased, “We’ll have to put her on wheels and push her around.”

“I do not want that job,” Rufus deadpanned, “but I’m sure Wyatt will volunteer _all_ of his time.” 

Wyatt glared at Rufus but Lucy’s laughter continued and his adoring gaze turned back to her, like the moon’s gravity to the ocean’s tide. Rufus would have rolled his eyes at Wyatt’s obviousness but he knew how it felt to have the woman you care about be so close, but be technically untouchable.

“ _Anyways_ , do you have any more blankets? That Flynn and I could use — it might get a little cold out there and the hay kinda itches,” Rufus shifted his feet, letting his gaze wander around the room, taking in the fireplace and the crackling fire, probably laid by the friendly chambermaid he met in the hall.

“Yeah, sorry about that, man,” Wyatt clapped him on the shoulder, before handing him the quilts that he pulled from a nearby wardrobe. 

“I know it’s not your fault but yeah, time travel sucks!” 

Lucy got up off the bed, careful to lift her skirts this time before hurrying across the room to give him a hug which Rufus returned, awkwardly with two large quilts on one arm.

“Uh, so yeah, I guess I’ll see you guys in the morning,” he said, pulling away and heading towards the door.

“Goodnight, Rufus.”

“Night.”

Wyatt shut the door behind him, turning around he shook his head, a small smile curving the corner of his lips.

————

“Rufus, am I right?”

Lucy nodded her head, her smile still evident. Bending her head, she smoothed her skirts around her, avoiding his gaze suddenly and leaving Wyatt at a loss for words. 

Crossing the room, the floorboards creaking with every footstep, he stopped in front of their borrowed luggage. Turning his head over his shoulder, he glanced at Lucy, “Do you think we should open it?”

Lucy gave him a disapproving look but came closer, her curiosity winning out.

“What? I’m pretty sure you don’t want to sleep in that dress.”

“ _I’m_ pretty sure you don’t want to wear what a man would wear to bed in this time period.” Lucy teased, the corner of her mouth creasing with a smile.

“I’m know I don’t, but I can just wear this,” he added, gesturing to his shirt and trousers, “That’s another thing altogether,” he pointed at her tightly cinched stays and fitted sleeves.

“That can _not_ be comfortable.”

“It really isn’t. These things pinch,” Lucy rubbed her sides, making a face.

“Let’s see what we got.” Wyatt rubbed his hands together before undoing the buckles that held the trunk closed.

“I feel like one of those people on Storage Wars who buys abandoned luggage and hopes to find expensive items inside so that they can sell them off,” Lucy admitted, peering over his shoulder. 

“That was oddly specific.” Wyatt glanced up at her with a smirk, admiring the way her hair curled around her ears and clung to her forehead in miniature waves.

“What? A girl can’t enjoy a interesting reality show every now and then?” 

Wyatt chuckled, shaking his head. Lifting the lid, Wyatt and Lucy found a lot of white, lacy things. “Looks like we chose the right one.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lizzie for the help on this one! It needed filling out and she really helped spark my ideas. 
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy, I really _really_ liked writing this part. 
> 
> Can y’all believe that movie? I about DIED, so much Lyatt, so much love! I just can’t! I can already feel some new ideas percolating though. :D

Lucy dug around in the trunk, the fine weave of the clothing feeling silky cool against her fingers as she sorted through the different dresses and accessories that a 18th century female carried with her on a trip. Finally, at the bottom she found what she was looking for: a nightgown.

Whoever once owned this trunk must have been wealthy. The nightgown was exceedingly delicate, from the material that was used to weave it to the neckline that was trimmed with beautifully crafted lace. She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder at Wyatt who kept a wary eye on the street outside the window. 

She worried that it was maybe too delicate. Holding it up to the light shining from the lantern on the nearby table, a glow emanated through the weave and she gasped.

“What’s wrong?” Wyatt was immediately by her side, gazing intently into her face before glancing down at the nightgown she still held between her hands.

“Oh,” Wyatt glanced away, his cheeks suffused with a blush.

“I just, um— well, I don’t know if this is entirely appropriate for me to be wearing around you.” Lucy babbled, gripping the fabric in a hand tight with nervous tension.

She paced for a few moments and Wyatt watched her, his gaze thoughtful.

Finally he spoke up, gesturing at the trunk with one hand, “There’s nothing else in that trunk? Looks like the whole of my hometown could fit in that thing.”

Lucy huffed but dropped down by the trunk again, the freezing cold of the wood floor seeping through her dress and sending a chill through her. She dug through the trunk again but after her first rummage through, the trunk was already a mess of dresses tangled with gloves and stockings and she gave up with an annoyed growl.

“What’s the matter? Not quite the same as your walk-in closet back home…” Wyatt teased, as he leaned against the windowsill, his arms crossed over his chest.

Lucy glared at him, standing up quickly she stepped on the back of her skirt and almost went sailing backwards before Wyatt was there to hold her up. She gripped his arm with one hand, the long nightgown trailing its hem and he caught it up for her with one hand around her waist.

“Thanks,” Lucy murmured, “I know history is my favorite thing to learn about, to even teach about, but I know I wasn’t meant to live in this time and i’m definitely not cut out for long skirts.”

“I don’t know,” Wyatt glanced down at her, her hair mussed and falling out of its pins, her cheeks flushed, “I think you do them justice.”

Lucy stared into his eyes for a moment, the warmth of his palm radiating through her dress and chasing the earlier chill away. Her pulse picked up, the closeness of his body to hers recalling a memory of another embrace, one not yet tainted by the ghost of a formerly dead wife. She hesitated as he let go of the nightgown and his other hand moved to push a straggling curl behind her ear.

She searched his face, sure that the same longing look played out across her own. She wanted to kiss him so badly, to chase away all the pain and anger within the feeling of his lips on hers. To forget about everything they had been through in the last few months and lose herself in a night of passion. He would do it for her because he loved her. He would give her anything she asked but she knew that it was wrong to take advantage of him like that. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready.

“Wyatt,” she murmured, pulling his hand away from her face with a gentle hand, “I’m sorry. It’s— it’s not that I don’t want to— to kiss you, but I think it’s too soon.”

Wyatt squeezed her waist, a look of disappointment crossing his face, but he stepped back. Handing the nightgown back to her he walked towards the window. Pressing a hand against the wall, he looked back out onto the street which had grown dark in the short time they had been distracted. The lamplighters were walking the streets setting the limited street lamps alight, their voices calling to one another echoed off the cobblestones and the brick exteriors of the homes and businesses lining the street.

Lucy sighed, turning her back she laid the nightgown on the bed and began to straighten the inside of the trunk as well as she could. Folding the dresses, she rescued the gloves from their stranglehold on the stockings and placed the gloves neatly on top, making sure none of the toilette bottles were broken or leaking in any way. 

Wyatt turned, his footsteps loud against the creaking floorboards as he made his way across the room and sat down on the bed with another obnoxious creak. Lucy couldn’t help it, she giggled.

“You think that’s funny?”

Lucy waggled her hand as if to say “so so” but she couldn’t hide a grin when Wyatt bounced on the bed and it gave another disconsonant squeak.

“You might want to cool it with the bouncing. I don’t want anybody getting the wrong idea about what's going on in here." Lucy laughed at the look on Wyatt’s face as he immediately stopped what he was doing.

“You should see your face,” Lucy hunched over laughing and held onto her sides. Wyatt gave her a dirty look but he couldn’t hold it for long as Lucy continued to giggle until she was breathless. 

“Why do you care what they think anyway? You’ll definitely never see these people again.” Lucy teased, snatching up the nightgown and retreating to the other side of the room where the shadows were deeper and the lamp light didn’t quite reach.

“ _Me_! You’re the one that brought it up.” 

Lucy waved a dismissive hand as she unhooked the front of her dress, her back turned to Wyatt who grew suddenly quiet after his indignant outburst.

She turned her head over her shoulder to catch him gazing intently at her, his eyes  
darkened with longing. She shot him a knowing glance, the warmth that had just been extinguished, erupting between them again.

“Are you staring while I’m undressing?”

Wyatt smirked, one shoulder lifting in a half shrug as he leaned back on his hands. Lucy rolled her eyes, holding the half undone top against her she untied the skirt and shimmied out of it before tossing it at him. It landed on his shoulder, not quite where she had meant it to land and she cursed inwardly as he pulled it off and let it fall to the floor slowly, so slowly, that  
she could almost feel it, like he had just removed it himself.

A blush rose to her cheeks, as his eyes trailed up from her stockinged feet, over her shift and landed on her hand, that still held her bodice closed. Lucy held his gaze for a moment or two, until he looked away, suddenly aware of the awkward position he was putting her in. He cleared his throat as he sat up and put his back to her. Turning to face the wall, she finally removed her bodice and shift, quickly tossing the nightgown over her head and tying the neckline closed with a yank of the ribbon. 

The temperature of the room cooled even more as the night crept in and she rubbed her arms as she crossed the room to blow out the candle on the table. Heading back to the bed, across the chilly floor, she was careful to lift up the nightgown hem so that she didn’t trip for a third time that day. 

She leaned against Wyatt’s side for a moment, resisting the urge to scrape her fingers through his hair and rested her hand on his shoulder instead. 

“Are you decent?” His voice rasped, rough with the exhaustion of the day.

“I’m probably the most covered up I’ve ever been except for when I was a kid. I got the chickenpox and my mom put me in a long sleeved top and pants pajama set, then taped socks and mittens on me so I couldn’t even attempt to scratch at the sores.”

“Well, it’s a good thing she did. I don’t even know if I’ve ever had the chickenpox. Should I have AC look into it when we get back home? I heard having chicken pox as an adult is worse than if you’re a kid when you get it.” Wyatt frowned as he thought about it and Lucy knocked into his shoulder.

“You’re covered. Agent Christopher wouldn’t let you travel through time without all your inoculations. She’s too thorough for that.” 

Wyatt shrugged, acknowledging that she was probably right as he picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. 

“Now scoot. I’m ready for bed so I would like to get in it if you don’t mind.”

Wyatt crooked an eyebrow at her use of scoot but stood up to let her crawl into the small four poster bed. She laid down, cradling the pillow under her head and yanked the blanket up as quickly as possible. Wyatt chuckled as he watched her essentially make a nest in the small bed. 

“Any space for me in there?” Wyatt teased, as he sat down on the bed to pull off his shoes and slide under the covers.

Lucy wrinkled her nose at him but snuck the edge of the quilt over his shoulder as he laid back with his arms under his head. 

“Thanks,” he murmured, turning his head to catch her eyes, in the moonlight coming through the glass pane window. The night was quiet, although the inn wasn’t, as a sudden burst of laughter filtered up the stairs from the common area. Lucy sighed and shifted to lay on her back, mirroring his pose, as closely as she could, with the blankets tucked up underneath her chin.

Wyatt chuckled, imagining her as that little girl sick with the chickenpox, mittens taped around her hands as she tried to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.

“What’s so funny?” Lucy turned her head in his direction.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about you as a little girl with your chickenpox. You probably had pink dots of Calamine lotion all over.”

Lucy scoffed, “I don’t want you thinking about me as a little girl with chickenpox. It’s embarrassing.” 

“I think it’s cute,” Wyatt turned his head back to hers, “I bet you were a handful for your mother. You probably asked her a million questions a day.”

“I resent that,” Lucy huffed. She turned back over on her side, ignoring him as she tried to fluff the pillow to her satisfaction.

Wyatt reached down and grabbed her hand, which stilled under his touch. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just— someone’s gotta ask a lot of questions to know as many things as you do. You’re inquisitive and you are always ready to learn something new. I like that about you.”

Lucy was quiet for a moment, “ _Oh_ ,” she breathed out, in surprise, “well, I— thank you. I never had anyone compliment me like that before.”

“Well, I could call you a nerd like I did by Hedy’s pool if you would rather—“

Lucy grabbed up her pillow and attempted to hit him with it as he laughed and fielded it with his upraised forearm. The bed creaked and groaned as she shifted her weight, whacking him right in the face as he spluttered. Snatching the pillow out of her hand he held it up in front of him as she tried to hit him with her fists. 

“I thought— I thought you didn’t want our neighbors getting any ideas,” Wyatt tried to catch his breath as Lucy pushed her hair out of her face. 

She paused, looking down at him, a stream of moonlight gracing the top of her head with pale light.

“I don’t,” she protested, weakly. Her hands were slack on top of the pillow that he still held to his chest. She couldn’t see him very well but she felt the frantic lift of his chest under her hands. Her heart raced but she knew that she couldn’t give in. She had already dissuaded him earlier and she wouldn’t lead him on again, it wasn’t right and she wasn’t ready. She loved him, of course she did, but it just wasn’t the right time. 

She would know it when it did come. 

She wasn’t doing it to punish Wyatt, far from it. He was a man of honor, of course she didn’t blame him. She just needed a chance for her heart to heal before she put it out there again. It needed the protective casing of distance, not physical distance but more of an emotional distance for the moment, just like a broken limb in need of a cast. She just needed space, to reevaluate how she felt and what she needed from him, after everything.

She reached down, grasped his hand and squeezed it, letting him know that she was still there for him even if she wasn’t _available_. His hand was warm, slightly rough with calluses against hers and the familiarity of his grip brought to memory, other moments when they had held hands. When he had encouraged her to run when they had left Bonnie and Clyde’s hideout with the sound of bullets ricocheting and Bonnie’s sobs, following them all the way back to town. His hand strong and reassuring in hers as they had escaped the choleric Fort Duquesne and ran for the Lifeboat, every step, every breath — a prayer — that everything would turn out all right and they would make it back home. In Hollywoodland, he had saved her. His hand calm and supportive against her back as he has led her back to the party, after that Rittenhouse agent had tried to kidnap her. 

His hands had held her in more ways than one. The memory of their night together called to her like a dove cooing a love song to its shy mate.

After a final squeeze, she retrieved her pillow from him and laid back down with her hand under her cheek.

“What were you like as a kid?” She finally asked, after a moment, a door down the hallway slamming as if to punctuate her question with finality. 

“I don’t know, I guess I was a typical little boy — I liked to get into mischief, I played catch with the boy who lived next door because my dad could never be bothered to pay attention to me and once he did, he paid attention to me with his fists so I spent as much time outside as I could. Fishing in the spring and summer, hunting in the fall and winter…” Wyatt trailed off like he was lost in a memory, “Grandpa Sherwin would tell me stories about his time with the 101st in Germany and I would spend my days pretending I was also a soldier, shooting the bad guy’s and winning the battles. I guess those dreams paid off.” 

After a beat of silence when it seemed like Wyatt wasn’t going to continue, Lucy reached across the space between them and laid a hand on his arm. 

“You know you’re nothing like your father, don’t you, Wyatt?” 

“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” Wyatt added.

Lucy stroked across the roughly woven fabric of his shirt sleeve with her thumb.

“Wyatt, you can’t let Jessica’s lies hold you back…” Lucy bit her lip, almost afraid to say it but she knew it needed to be said, “She’s been manipulating you this whole time, ever since that text message.” 

Lucy could still feel the aching of her broken heart when she had found out that Wyatt had escaped the bunker to go after Jessica, his wife who was no longer dead, even though they had just spent a wonderful, memorable night together.

“I know what she told you about how you were drinking and cheating and that it haunts you, Wyatt, but that’s not who you are now. It might have been true in some other timeline but in this timeline you’re brave, strong and caring and you wouldn’t give up on Jessica no matter that she betrayed your trust. _You_ are the main reason why Rufus and I are still alive. And don’t bring up Rufus and Chinatown, that wasn’t your fault either! It was Rittenhouse and it’s agents — Jessica and Emma were to blame and we will get justice, I know we will.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me.” Wyatt finally spoke, his voice sounding rough to her ears. She thought maybe he was trying to hold back tears, she hadn’t meant for him to get upset but the stress of all of his guilt must have been eating him up inside for him to feel such relief at her honesty.

“You’ll get through this Wyatt, I know you will.” Lucy settled back down, resting her head against the scratchy pillowcase and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep. 

“Goodnight, Lucy,” Wyatt whispered, but she had already gone off to dreamland. He just hoped that wherever that was, felt just as free as she had just made him feel.

————

Rufus shivered as he shrugged into his overcoat in the dark, hay-scented stable. “Stupid bladder,” he muttered to himself as he made his way out into the yard where it was still too early for the chickens to be underfoot. _Thank the force or whatever higher being that ruled the universe_. Rufus hated chickens with their beady little eyes and their sharp beaks that had always scared him when he was a little kid when he visited his great aunt’s farm every summer.

Completing his business, he walked away toward the detached kitchen that the over-friendly maid had shown him to yesterday and let himself in.

The fireplace crackled with a welcoming flame and the large space was already warm from the heat of the bread ovens and the busy slave women bustling around. Rufus nodded kindly at them before asking if he might have something to drink. 

After slaking his thirst with the dipper from the water bucket by the door, he asked if he might have a tray of breakfast for Wyatt and Lucy.

“Actually, uh— if you don’t mind, I can take it up to them,” Rufus nodded his head politely as he accepted the tea tray and made his way out of the kitchen and toward the inn. 

Climbing the stairs and wincing at every loud creak of the steps beneath his boots, he made his way towards Lucy and Wyatt’s room. 

When he came to the door he wavered for a minute, not sure how to hold the tray and open the door at the same time and although knocking on the door was probably the best option, he didn’t want to wake anyone else still asleep at the inn this early in the morning. _Damn it_ , he was already awake, so why the hell did he care about other people and whether they were sleeping or not. 

Switching the tray to one arm, hoping that he wasn’t about to send the expensive silver service crashing to the wooden floorboards, he slowly lifted the latch and pushed his way in. 

What he saw before him caused his jaw to drop and he stepped back involuntary suddenly wishing that he had knocked on the bedroom door before letting himself in. 

A pale foot stuck out from under the covers, draped over Wyatt’s legs under the quilt, the two of them spooned together. Lucy’s dark head rested against Wyatt’s back, her small arms wrapped around his torso and his hands clung to hers in sleep.

 _Do they even realize what they’re doing?_ He thought to himself, _All I know is it’s gonna be hella awkward when they wake up wrapped around each other, again._ Shaking his head to try and get the unbidden sight out of his mind he turned away from them all cuddled up together. 

“I really gotta stop doing this,” Rufus mumbled to himself, as he set the tray down gently on a nearby table and let himself out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Gretchen for all your help with this chapter! 
> 
> I love the pop culture references that Rufus gets to _pop_ into every episode, I hope this chapter does them and his character justice. :D
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! <3

To be honest, Rufus had never really given much thought to how the West had been settled. He knew that the Continental Railroad existed and that the Oregon Trail stretched across thousands of miles but he never thought to see himself in one of the pioneering wagons straight out of _Little House on the Prairie_. 

It was hot, it was cramped and the seating was definitely not _La-Z-Boy_ material. Traveling across the open, unsettled space without a _7-11_ in sight was actually kinda creepy and Rufus had no other way to distract himself so he watched his friends. They flirted and smiled at each other, their faces finally free of the strain of their broken relationship, in fact it looked like they were starting to patch things up and Rufus couldn’t be happier for them.

Flynn shifted next to him, probably feeling the same bruising numbness that Rufus was feeling in his own backside. 

“When does this wagon train stop? Don’t we all get together to sing _Kumbaya_ around the bonfire, at some point?”

Flynn shielded his eyes, glancing toward the sun and checking its position, then turned back toward him, “We probably have a couple more hours before we stop for the night. Gotta make the most of the daylight hours we have left.”

Rufus wondered where Flynn had learned to tell time by the sun but decided he didn’t want to know. _Probably some weird self help class full of do-it-yourself-ers._ Another bump of the wagon wheels, as they hit a deep rut sent him caroming into Flynn who glared at him. A jolt of pain shot up his spine from his rump’s encounter with the hard wooden seat and he cursed.

“ _Aww man_ , this sucks and my ass is asleep. I’m going to walk with Wyatt and Lucy for a bit. You got this?” 

Flynn nodded his acceptance, sweat glistening on his forehead under the brutal rays of the mid-summer sun. Rufus handed over the reins, after stopping the horses, and jumped down from the wagon seat very carefully. He had learned that the hard way when he had ripped a huge hole in his pants jumping from the wagon bed when they were back in 1774. Talk about inconvenient and embarrassing.

Dust floated up from the dry roadbed underneath his feet when he landed. Coughing, he waved a hand in front of his face as he came around the back of the wagon, almost jumping out of his skin when the wagon lurched as the horses followed along with Flynn’s command to “giddy up!” 

“What the hell, Flynn? You almost killed me!” He shouted out, but noticing the evil eye that Flynn shot him around the edge of the wagon bonnet, he backtracked, “I take it back, you saved me…” Rufus saluted, “ _thanks_ , Flynn.”

“Thanks _Flynn_ ,” he muttered to himself, as he quickened his steps to catch up to Wyatt and Lucy who were ahead of the wagon walking together. Lucy’s bonnet hung down her back and Wyatt removed his hat to shoo a pestering fly away from her exposed neck. She smiled at him demurely, dimples appearing in her cheeks. 

“You okay, buddy?” Wyatt smiled, eyes twinkling mischievously underneath the brim of his hat.

“Shut up, Wyatt.” Rufus grumbled, the uncomfortable heat and biting flies combining to put him in a less than pleasant mood.

Wyatt laughed, picking up a stick from the path, he tossed it into the grass beside the track, “Chill out, it was just a question.” 

Rufus gave Wyatt a “be serious,” look as he fell into step beside them.

“So…” Rufus glanced over at them, the silence wasn’t exactly awkward but he felt the need to fill it anyways, “What are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know, _this_ and _that_ ,” Lucy answered, vaguely, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth as she dropped her arms to her sides. 

“This and that?” Rufus echoed, looking between them, skeptical as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

He couldn’t believe that they hadn’t been talking about _something_ , why they might be keeping it from him was unfathomable, _unless…_ it was about their relationship. He shouldn’t pry, he thought to himself, as he stepped around a deep gouge in the dirt of the road. He knew it was almost always his downfall but he opened his mouth anyway.

“So… did you tell Jiya yet?” Rufus blurted out, as soon as he had made his way back to his friends.

“Tell Jiya what?” Lucy asked, peeking around Wyatt to glance at Rufus a confused frown marking her usually smooth forehead.

“That you’re back together,” Rufus’s voice upticked on the end of together and he wanted to wince, the sound making him think of being back in school when he was a prepubescent teen and his voice had been changing. He hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone, back then because every time he opened his mouth his voice would crack and embarrass him. 

“We’re not back together,” Wyatt admitted after a momentary pause.

“Uh, what?” Rufus looked between them, Lucy’s face infused with a rosy blush and Wyatt’s creased in barely controlled shame.

“Oh, uh— well, I thought, you seemed, I- mean, uh… _aren’t you?_ ” Rufus stammered, his brain finally freezing up and refusing to catch up with his mouth that just wouldn’t shut up no matter how hard he tried to shut it.

Rufus felt heat rush up the back of his neck and he knew he would probably never live this slip up down. He glanced between his two friends, the three of them forming a triangle of various levels of embarrassment as they all tried to find a way out of the awkward conversation.

He hightailed it out of there, with a muttered excuse, to beg Flynn to let him back on the wagon, a numb but bruised ass a much easier price to pay than the stinging embarrassment he was currently experiencing.

—————

“What I wouldn’t give for this to be _In N Out_ , right now…,” Rufus trailed off, dunking his spoon into his stew and watching as it plopped off in congealed clumps. He glanced over at Wyatt and Lucy whose heads were bent awfully close. “I _said_ , I really wish this was _In N Out_ burger right now.”

“Rufus,” Lucy whispered, looking around to make sure there wasn’t anyone listening too closely, “not so loud! Anyone could hear you.” 

“Excuse me,” Rufus whispered back, “but I’m not the one ignoring everyone else in the group. We are on a mission, not a freakin’ blind date, just in case you forgot!”

“God forbid we don’t entertain you for two seconds,” Wyatt drawled, shooting Rufus an exasperated look as he turned away from Lucy. Leaning up on his elbow, he pierced Rufus with a flinty stare, his blue eyes turned to gray in the scant light from the campfire.

“Look, I don’t like this any more than you, _Wyatt_ ,” Rufus shot back, vehemently, “but I didn’t get to bring my girlfriend on this trip,” _unlike you_ , he thought to himself, “Instead I’ve got Uncle Fester breathing down my neck every night. You can at least do me the courtesy of listening when I speak to you.” 

“I already told you…” Wyatt trailed off, a guilty look crossing his face as he glanced down, “Lucy isn’t my girlfriend.” 

Lucy turned her head, her braid slipping down her shoulder. She stared down at the ground by her feet, her lips compressed into a thin line. Rufus almost felt bad for her. He never did learn when to keep his big mouth shut, but he was aggravated with them, the mission, even his bruised ass was causing him annoyance, damn it, and he was going to complain about it. 

“Well whose fault is that, _hmm_ ,” Rufus stated, nastily, if he was being honest with himself. 

He huffed as he got up and dumped his stew into the pot hanging over the large campfire a few feet away, rinsing the tin plate in the bucket of water used for that purpose, he tossed it into the back of their wagon. He walked toward the nearby tree line and ignoring the inner thought that told him not to wander too far in case of Indians or bandits, he stomped into the trees, the bruised pine needles beneath his feet filling the air with their distinctive fresh scent. Fallen tree branches cracked beneath his feet, yet despite his worries about wild animals and Blackfeet Indians, he didn’t check his steps.

A horse’s whiny brought him out of his brooding thoughts and he turned to walk toward the sound. 

“What are you doing here, Rufus? Dinner not appealing enough for you tonight?” Flynn eyed him over the horse’s back, “Better get used to it because that’s what we’re eating for as long as we’re out here.”

“Thanks for that enlightening commentary,” Rufus crossed his arms as he leaned up against a nearby tree. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Flynn asked, dusting his hands off, and turning to the second horse from their team.

“I don’t know. It’s just—“ Rufus trailed off, as the flutter of wings from a close by tree and the snap of a branch startled him. 

“What was that?” He spat out automatically, when a owl flew into view and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the clearing.

“An owl,” Flynn deadpanned.

“I can see _that_ ,” Rufus snapped, brushing at his sleeve and glancing around as if expecting another nocturnal animal to attack.

“It’s just, Wyatt and Lucy, they’re so—“ Rufus trailed off, searching for the right words.

“In love?” Flynn offered, frankly.

“I mean, yeah— but how did you know?” 

“I have eyes, don’t I? It’s not hard to miss those pining glances and sad puppy dog eyes,” Flynn mimed a frowning, sad face. “It’s frankly sickening. I would vomit up my breakfast cereal every morning if I actually ate in the same room as them.” 

“That’s lovely,” Rufus rolled his eyes, wondering why he had even thought it was a good idea to actually have a conversation with Flynn, of all people. 

“Stupid Oregon Trail,” Rufus kicked at a stone by the toe of his boot, sending it skittering into the woods and causing a nearby horse to jerk its head up with a startled snort. 

“Let’s go,” Flynn said, bending down to pick up his coat off of a pine tree stump and shrugging into it,”You’re disturbing the horses when they should be resting.”

Rufus cringed, feeling suddenly apologetic, straightening up he crossed the small clearing, “Sorry, uh— horsey.” He attempted to pat it but it suddenly moved it’s head and about landed him on his ass as he tried to get away quickly.

Flynn gave him an unimpressed look, grasped him by the upper arm and dragged Rufus after him into the darkening shadows between the towering trunks.

—————

The campfire’s flames burned low, barely flickering after its banking for the night and Rufus realized how late it must be as he took note of the height of the crescent moon in the starlit sky.

He yawned loud and long and shaking his head to free him from his temporary lethargy, he elbowed a dozing Flynn in the ribs to wake him up.

“Hey, guys? Shouldn’t we like… go to sleep? I mean, actually try to sleep,” Rufus gestured to Lucy who had pillowed her head on Wyatt’s leg where he leaned against the uncomfortable looking wagon spoke with his arms crossed against his chest.

Lucy sat up, hiding a yawn of her own behind her hand, “Wyatt?” she asked, searching the darkness on the edge of the clearing, “Do you think it’s safe?”

After Flynn and Rufus had returned to the campsite and the mysterious meat stew that was their dinner, a cry had gone up from one of the lookouts as he raced towards where the wagon master had made his camp. 

“ _Indians_ ,” Had been his only word as Wyatt called after him, asking what had him so “riled.” Rufus couldn’t help but look perplexed at that. _Texan_ , Lucy had whispered behind her hand, pointing in Wyatt’s direction. 

Rufus would have laughed if the threat of Indians didn’t make his stomach feel like it would drop into his dusty boots. First the Shawnee in 1754 and now this — Rufus had gulped, scanning the tree line for warriors with red painted faces and feathers in their hair. His mind’s depiction of them would offend a many number of them today yet they still scared him witless nonetheless. 

“I’m no Indian expert but I would think they would have attacked by now, if they were going to do it. It’s been a couple hours since the alarm was raised, they would have assumed we had let down our guard and attacked.” 

Rufus looked at Lucy’s stricken face and Flynn’s blank mask, “I don’t know, man,” and shrugged his shoulders at Wyatt. 

Wyatt sighed, glancing down at Lucy whose fingers were clenched tight around the blanket she had been sheltering under. He stood for a moment, staring into the darkness beyond the circle of wagons, his gaze sharpening and a frown forming between his eyebrows as he weighed strategy and tactics in his head. 

Lucy shifted her weight nervously as she followed Wyatt’s gaze and Rufus could imagine the nervousness cramping in her stomach because he felt the same way. The wilderness held so many different dangers, ones that most people in their modern world wouldn’t even think to worry about — not with smartphones, hospitals and antibiotics at their disposal. 

“Are we done staring into the trees? Cause I don’t think that’s going to do any of us any good in this pitch black,” Flynn crossed his arms, “We aren’t going to get any sleep if we continue to watch and worry.” 

“He’s right,” Wyatt admitted, rubbing a hand over his chin. Rufus figured it probably took a lot out of Wyatt to admit that the older man was right. 

“Now we have to decide who sleeps where,” Rufus added, pointing a thumb towards the covered wagon, “cause there’s no freakin’ way all four of us will be able to fit inside that wagon.” 

Lucy laughed suddenly, a hiccup of a laugh as if she was surprised that she could feel amusement after her fear. Rufus grinned at her, relieved to see the ghost of a smile on Wyatt’s face as well, before turning to him, “What do you say? Rock, paper, scissors again?” 

“Fine,” Wyatt sighed, his dimples disappearing as he held out his hand.

Rufus sighed dramatically, when he lost once again to Wyatt, “Okay, you won, where do you want to sleep… the wagon bed or the ground underneath? And don’t tell me, I know, I get to stay with Flynn. It’s cool, it’s fine. The man only tried to kill  
me half a dozen times.”

Rufus turned quickly, remembering that Flynn was behind him and he had had his back turned to him this whole time. The dark-haired man, just shook his head either uncaring that Rufus still thought he was a murdering psychopath or comfortable enough with himself to not let it bother him. Rufus offered him a strained smile before turning back to Wyatt.

“What’s the consensus?” Rufus asked, glancing between Wyatt and Lucy who admitted that they preferred the ground under the wagon.

“Suit yourself.” Rufus shrugged, “Come on Flynn. Time to get in our jammies… _hey_ , do you mind telling me a bedtime story?” He asked, trying to get the other man riled up, just for kicks.

“Rufus, I would rather tie myself to a bucking bronco.” 

“Great!”

—————

“This might have been a bad idea,” Rufus whispered to Flynn, the whole side of his body pressed up against his, “I feel like a sardine in a can or one of those clowns at the circus crammed into a tiny clown car. Clowns,” Rufus shuddered comically, “Did I say clowns? I don't know why I said clowns. I hate clowns with their big ugly ass shoes and melting white makeup with the overdrawn red lips. They are _creep-y._ ”

“Shut up,” Flynn muttered, as he shifted trying to get comfortable.

A giggle and a deeper toned whisper from very close by filtered up from the cracks in the wooden slats of the wagon bottom. 

“Are they flirting? Do you think they’re flirting?” 

“I don’t care if they’re singing _God Bless America_ , I want you to _shut up_ so I can get some sleep.” Flynn grumbled. 

“ _I want you to shut up!_ The frick? What about them? They’re definitely not being quiet and I’m afraid of what I might hear if I’m silent …” Rufus felt around him on the bed of the wagon until his fingers met a coarse material that felt like burlap, “maybe if I plug up my ears with this sacking.” 

“I’ll plug you up with sacking,” Flynn grunted, as he jerked his arm away from Rufus’s and turned on his side.

Rufus huffed — ignoring the rumble of Wyatt’s voice beneath him and Lucy’s answering murmur — he felt slightly more comfortable without the other man crammed up against him.

“Goodnight, I guess.”

A hush fell over the camp eventually and Rufus was grateful to finally be able to drift off to sleep.

—————

Rufus grumbled to himself as he climbed out of the wagon, Flynn’s snores following him as he dropped down out of the back.

“Of course, Flynn snores and keeps me awake after he complained about me talking too much. Well, next time, _if there is a next time_ ,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna keep talking and he can shove it!” 

Rufus pushed down his sleeves, tripping over something that he could barely see in the shadow of the wagon. Cursing, he turned around trying to get a better look at it when a movement caught his eye. He squinted his eyes to peer under the wagon, frightening thoughts of wild animals filling his mind, when he realized that that was where Wyatt and Lucy had been “sleeping” and it probably wasn’t very appropriate to be staring at them.

Before he could turn away a groan reached his ears and he whirled around, suddenly terrified that what he was witnessing was not meant for his eyes or for anyone’s really. _Oh my god, oh my god! What do I do?_ He thought frantically as he tried to ignore the sounds coming from underneath the wagon. _All around the mulberry bush the monkey chased the weasel…_ He tried to sing along in his head, to distract himself from the sight of his two friends essentially making out under a wagon in 1843.

“Damn, I did not need to see that. When will I learn not to look directly at them,” Rufus tripped, almost stumbling into the side of someone else’s wagon. 

Cursing himself and his dumb idea to play _rock, paper, scissors_ in the first place, he turned back the way he had come and climbed back into the wagon. A restless night on a hard wagon bed, full of Flynn’s snores and a mind overrun with clamoring thoughts lay ahead of him. He would definitely not think about what his friends were or were not doing under the wagon that he was lying in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Gretchen for all her help with this story! I would be nowhere without her advice and encouragement! 
> 
> This is a shorter chapter but I hope y’all still enjoy it, we’re about to get to the nitty gritty with Rittenhouse. ;)

“So, when are you going to do it?”

“Huh?” Wyatt muttered staring down at the checkerboard in front of him, his attention hardly wavering from its intense perusal of the game, “Do what, Rufus?”

“You know...” Rufus trailed off, a suggestive grin on his face.

“No, I don’t _know_ , Rufus. What are you talking about?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you, _again_. How many knocks have you taken to the head recently?” Rufus bit his lip, as he watched his friend’s face go from confused to irritated in a matter of seconds. 

“Rufus, stop being so damn mysterious,” Wyatt growled, pinching the bridge of his nose, “What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Rufus sighed, heavily, almost disappointed that his friend did not get what he was hinting at. Leaning in after glancing around surreptitiously, he whispered, “When are you going to tell Lucy you love her?”

Wyatt sat back, his full attention finally focused on Rufus. The directness of his gaze surprised Rufus who had expected him to play it off or scoff that he wasn’t, when Rufus could so clearly see that he was in love with Lucy. Wyatt dragged his hands down his face before he sighed too, “I already did.”

“What? When?” Rufus leaned closer, confused. _Why did Wyatt act so uneasy about this?_ He loved Lucy — Rufus knew it, Jiya knew it, hell, even Flynn knew it — so why did he act so weird around her if he had already told her how he felt.

“It—“ Wyatt paused, maybe to gather his thoughts, Rufus wasn’t sure, “I told her after you died. When we came back to the bunker afterwards…. I knew I should have told her earlier — she looked so small and alone sitting there in the hallway, I couldn’t hold it in any longer — and I couldn’t let her leave without telling her how I felt because what if something happened to her, like what had happened with you, I would never get over it. So I told her… how I felt. I hope you don’t mind, your death was kind of the catalyst for it to happen, I should have listened to you sooner and told her when we came back from 1918 but she was afraid that she was all alone and I didn’t want to take advantage by telling her when she was at her lowest moment. She deserves to hear it without an ulterior motive. I— I’m just trying to wait till it’s the right time _again_.”

Rufus sympathized, although it felt so strange to talk about his death when he was sitting right here alive, talking about it. 

_Time travel still blew his mind._

“But?” 

“But… I still don’t think we’re quite there yet. To be able to come back together after all the shit we’ve been through, I just— I don’t want to rush it.” 

“Rush it? Wyatt, you’ve been together from 1754 to the present and beyond, you’ve had plenty of time! You should just tell her, dude. Besides, I didn’t get to be here the first time, I’m gonna be here the second time you tell her, you better believe it.” Rufus grinned, placing a comforting hand on Wyatt’s shoulder, “You got this.”

“Thanks, man.” Wyatt smiled genuinely, before glancing back down at the game board, “Can we get back to the checkers game now?”

————

Usually the third time’s the charm, isn’t that what they always say — who the _hell_ is they, anyway — but for Wyatt and Lucy it took a little bit longer...

The morning was quiet until they got the news from Jiya, that the Mothership had jumped again, this time to March 4, 1929, Washington, D.C.

Lucy explained the significance of March 4th as the inauguration of presidential candidate Herbert Hoover as the thirty first President of the United States. Her face lit up with excitement like it always did when they talked about any other time period that was not their own. 

They stood around for a few moments, extrapolating about what Rittenhouse could be after and they agreed that they must want to stop Hoover from becoming president. Assassination, was Wyatt’s guess and Lucy backed him up. _Of course she did._

Rufus wasn’t so sure that he wanted to go back to another assassination. The attempted assassination of Vice President Andrew Johnson and Secretary of State William Seward had been bad enough but Wyatt argued against him staying behind, after all if he didn’t go then Jiya would have to pilot the Lifeboat and Rufus didn’t really want that, did he?

Rufus thought that was kind of a low blow and said so, ignoring Jiya’s frown. She was independent and probably didn’t think she needed him to stand up for her, but he did it anyway. 

The arguing reached down the bunker hallways and echoed in the Lifeboat hanger where Wyatt and Rufus stood surrounded by Lucy and Flynn, Jiya sat behind her computer bank watching them with wide brown eyes while an exasperated Agent Christopher tried to mediate.

“ _Stop!_ ” Denise snapped, two pairs of eyes, blue and brown turning to her almost instantly, at her drill sergeant tone.

Rufus had the decency to look ashamed of himself but Wyatt just glared at their superior officer. 

“Now, I don’t care how you decide this but I don’t want to hear anymore of this juvenile bickering. Act like adults, please.” Agent Christopher walked off, shaking her head at her bunker babies.

“Sorry, man,” Rufus apologized, placing a supportive hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. 

“No, I understand. It’s dangerous,” Wyatt rubbed a hand across his forehead, “but every one of these trips is dangerous. We know that firsthand. This is what we’re here for, right? To stop Rittenhouse.”

Rufus nodded, recognizing Wyatt’s attempt at an apology while also encouraging their team, like he always did. 

“I apologize” Wyatt nodded at Jiya, who smiled back, “I shouldn’t have brought Jiya into it.” Rufus wanted to grumble at the ease of which Jiya would forgive Wyatt, probably his Southern charm had something to do with it. 

Lucy smiled at the both of them while Flynn shuffled his feet, probably ready to leave as soon as possible so they could get back sooner. 

————

“How are you going to handle this?” Rufus asked, straightening his tie in the tiny mirror above the washstand in the bedroom of the seedy apartment building they had decided to commandeer as their own.

“Well, first we have to find Emma and then..”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Rufus put up a hand to stop Wyatt’s spiel about Rittenhouse and how they were going to handle the assassination attempt.

“Not _that_!” Rufus sighed, shaking his head at his clueless friend, “I meant about your feelings for Lucy. Are you still beating around the bush? Because from what I saw and heard under that wagon back in the Wyoming wilderness, it’s not for lack of trying.”

“Rufus, what the hell!” Wyatt pressed a hand to the back of the chair he had been sitting in, his knuckles growing white with tension, “You were watching that?”

“What? I was half asleep and I thought you might have been a pack of coyotes or something. It wasn’t intentional.”

“Coyotes don’t hunt in packs!”

“Well, how the hell do I know?” His voice grew higher pitched, “I’m a Chicagoan, born and bred! Not some grimy Texan who runs through the woods in camouflage and deer musk.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes but let it go, pushing his hand through his hair.

“I don’t know, Rufus. Can we not talk about this right now. We have a job to do.”

“You know you’ve done perfectly fine before, with a ‘job to do,’” Rufus mimed, quotation marks in the air, “Remember Hollywoodland…”

“I remember,” Wyatt bit off, “and I also remember everything that happened after that, because of what we did, okay? I don’t want that happening again.”

“I don’t blame you but you can’t let your fear keep you from finding happiness with Lucy, man. If I had let fear stop me from trying with Jiya, I would still be sending her text messages from my desk instead of spending every moment I can loving her.”

Wyatt bowed his head, staring down at his borrowed shoes for a moment before apparently deciding that he was done with their conversation.

“Are you ready? Let’s go,” Wyatt opened the door, expecting Rufus to follow him  
down the dimly lit hallway. Rufus paused, watching his friend’s straight shoulders as he made his way to the stairwell. _Ignoring your problems very rarely makes them go away, Wyatt._ Shaking his head, Rufus closed the door with an audible click as he followed the soldier down the staircase.

They walked down a few floors, their steps on the stairs punctuated by the screaming of fractious children, the slamming of apartment doors and the unusual sound of muffled polka music.

Wyatt glanced down the hall, both ways — checking to make sure they weren’t being observed — then he knocked quickly on a door that was immediately opened by  
Lucy. She stepped out, closing the door behind her. 

Her striped sweater, jeans and suede boots had been traded in for a pastel drop waist dress with pink flowers, a matching felt hat and leather mary janes.

“Nice duds,” Wyatt winked at her, as he looked her up and down. 

“Duds? We aren’t in Texas anymore,” Rufus joked, clamming up when the two ignored him in favor of admiring each other. 

“Thanks,” Lucy beamed, striking a pose, “You’re not looking too shabby yourself,” she tweaked his jacket lapel, smiling up at him cheekily.

“If you’re done holding up the mission with your flirting,” Rufus tossed his hands up before dropping them dramatically, “I think we should go.”

A passing couple gave them a curious glance as they walked by, bending their heads together and whispering as they let themselves in to a nearby apartment.

“You’re probably right,” Wyatt admitted. He grabbed ahold of Lucy’s hand and motioning for Rufus to follow, he lead them back to the staircase and down to  
the street. 

————

They met up with Flynn on the way down the stairs. He had to be more specific when stealing clothes because of his height and had gone searching for his own outfit while the others changed into theirs. 

“Hey, Lofty! Did you find what you needed to fit your giraffe legs?” Rufus’s laugh choked off as he dodged Flynn’s outstretched fist and ducked behind Lucy who was closest.

“Watch it!” Wyatt threw his arm out in front of Lucy, pushing her back and out of reach. Rufus grunted as he ran into the wall behind them. Lucy was pushed up against him and the familiarity flustered him. He wasn’t used to being so close to her physically despite their close friendship, “Calm down. It was just a joke! No need to get so defensive, Flynn.”

Flynn grumbled something unintelligible under his breath but turned away from them and exited the front door of the apartment building that led onto 13th Street. 

“Rufus,” Wyatt warned, “don’t get on his bad side, okay? I know you like to poke at him but he’s a little testy this trip and I don’t want to have to bring you back from the dead again.” 

“Noted.” Rufus straightened his jacket before following Flynn out the door.

“What are we gonna do with them?” Lucy asked, as she tucked her hand into  
the crook of Wyatt’s elbow. Wyatt set his hat on his head as they left the entryway and headed out into the celebratory atmosphere. 

“I don’t know but next trip I say we bring  
the duct tape.” Lucy’s joyful laughter followed them down the crowded capital street, like the festive bunting that draped each and every light post.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go out to Gretchen for all her help with this story! And Lizzie for checking my punctuation again.
> 
> I’ve never visited the White House so I really don’t know how it looks on the inside or how it may vary from what it looked like in 1929. I’m just using my imagination. ;)
> 
> Sorry, it took so long to update, I’m struggling writing the ending of this one. Beginnings are easy, it’s the endings that are the hard part. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated! <3

The team followed the crowd as they meandered through the streets, heading northwest toward the Capitol building, where the inaugural ceremony was to take place. 

There was a slight chill in the air. The burgeoning spring weather had yet to put out the glorious cherry blossoms that the city would be known for in modern times, but some of the more wealthy resident’s garden beds featured yellow daffodils poking their heads out of the dead winter foliage.

“You know, in less than two years the Great Depression will hit, following immediately after the stock market crash of 1929. The unemployment rate will rise to 25% by 1932, mostly affecting agriculture, industrial and mining jobs which are the pillars of American industry at the time.” Lucy rambled on, Wyatt barely able to keep up as she rattled off fact after fact. After a moment he had to stop her, or his brain would go into information overdrive. 

“Hold on, what does Rittenhouse have to do with this? Any educated guesses?” Wyatt asked as he pulled her to a stop by a bicycle rack, Flynn and Rufus following close behind.

“Maybe they hope to eliminate Woodrow Wilson so that another man can take his place. I’m not really sure how that would work. Would the current president’s Vice President take over or the assuming Vice President. But wait, Calvin Coolidge was Vice President before he became president so I’m guessing George H. Moses, the president pro tempore of the Senate, would take over. The vice president could be pure blood Rittenhouse, but how do we find that out? I guess we really don’t know.” 

Wyatt felt like his head was reeling, partly because of all the facts Lucy was slinging at him, and partly because he had had nothing since his breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs this morning. Lucy looked to him for guidance but he stared at her blankly, lost in thought and the mesmerizing bounce of her curls as she turned her head to glance at Rufus, who was no help either. Lucy looked ready to stomp her foot in aggravation, when Flynn spoke up.

“I suggest we split up, half go to the current President with the news and the other two go to find Hoover and see who shows up.” 

Rufus looked a little uneasy as he came to stand in between Lucy and Flynn. He really didn’t want to be stuck with Flynn on another mission where the notoriously violent man had access to a weapon, and Rufus’s unprotected back in his sights, but what else could he do but go along with it, unless…

“Uh, guys, I know this isn’t really the time or _place_ but…”

“Really, Rufus? You had us playing for beds and now you want to choose partners by playing Rock Paper Scissors? Come on!” Wyatt sighed, rolling his eyes at what he thought was Rufus’s ridiculousness. He knew he sounded grumpy but the combination of aggravation and hunger were starting to take their toll.

“Hey, I can’t help it okay. I have a little brother, this is how we always decided the important stuff like who got to ride shotgun or who got the last slice of pizza in the box.” Rufus shrugged, his face dropping at the thought of his little brother and his mom, what they must be feeling now that he was supposedly dead, and how they were getting along without his Mason Industries salary. 

Lucy moved closer, running her hand up and down Rufus’s back as he stood there, his head bent, trying to hold back tears that he knew Flynn would most definitely scoff at.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, which consisted of Lucy shooting Wyatt a pitiful look complete with sad brown eyes, and Flynn picking his teeth unconcernedly with a stub of hay that he had probably pilfered from a stable, Wyatt finally relented. 

“Fine, Rufus. We’ll play Rock Paper Scissors, but for the sake of my sanity can we _please_ never do this again?” Wyatt pleaded, his bright blue eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. 

“Fine,” Rufus sniffed loudly, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe at his nose before putting out his hand. “Winner gets to pair up with Lucy, loser gets Flynn.”

Wyatt grimaced, probably at the thought of Rufus’s now germ laden hand, but he put his out too and they counted off, simultaneously. 

After the third count, Wyatt held out paper and Rufus had rock, again.

Wyatt clapped Rufus on the shoulder, “Sorry, buddy.” 

“It’s okay,” Rufus shrugged it off, shoving his handkerchief back in his pocket,“I guess I’ll get used to him eventually.”

Lucy smiled sympathetically over at him, patted him once more on the back before she walked back over to Wyatt’s side.

The insistent, warning beep of a car horn caused them to jump out of the way as the car almost barreled into them. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re driving that thing!” Wyatt yelled out, but the driver either didn’t hear or didn’t care as they raced off down a intersecting street. 

Wyatt helped Lucy up from where she had fallen on the green and she dusted herself off as she picked her handbag up out of the thankfully dry, gutter. 

“I wonder what their hurry is…” Lucy looked down 13th Street, marking the retreat of the long gone automobile, a frown of consternation creasing her forehead. 

She turned to Wyatt, “Do you think…?”

“I don’t know, could be…”

“But what about,” Lucy continued.

“ _Hello_ ,” Rufus waved a hand in between them, “mind filling the two of us in? We don’t speak your freaky nonsensical language.”

Flynn snorted, but kept his peace. Flicking his piece of hay that he had been using as a toothpick to the ground, he straightened his hat, which had gone askew when he jumped out of the way of the speeding car.

“I don’t know. It just seems weird for someone to be driving so crazy on such a important day. Everyone else is strolling leisurely, admiring the early spring day and the festive mood then that guy comes peeling down the street. Didn’t you see his face? He looked frantic, almost desperate… what could have him so riled up? Maybe an attempt on the new President’s life? I’m not sure but I think it’s time we actually split up and see what we can do to stop Rittenhouse from completing whatever crazy scheme they’ve planned this time.” Wyatt stated insistently, as he paced with his hands on his hips.

Rufus opened his mouth to reply, when Wyatt interrupted, “Yes, I know my wife is one of those fanatics but we don’t have time to worry about her or Emma right now.” 

They listened intently as Wyatt laid out the plan — they would both meet up with their targets and if they found anything suspicious they were to immediately meet up at the side door on the west end of the building. After he made it clear that they weren’t supposed to cause any ruckus that wasn’t uncalled for — mainly while giving Flynn a direct stare — which Rufus wanted to snicker openly at, until Wyatt turned the gaze on him, and he had to promise to watch Flynn’s back _and_ keep him in line. 

_What a bunch of bologna_ , Rufus wanted to roll his eyes as he watched Wyatt and Lucy walk away together. He used to be part of that group, granted he had sometimes felt like the third wheel, but he never would begrudge them the fact that they had been developing feelings for each other. 

Rufus loved his friends too, so even though he wanted to be annoyed at being cast off to deal with the unpredictable Flynn, he was glad to see them getting back to a place where they could be comfortable, maybe even, the most comfortable with each other. Shrugging his shoulders for what felt like the millionth time lately, he set off with Flynn to find Herbert Hoover.

—————

Lucy slipped her hand into the crook of Wyatt’s elbow as they made their way towards Pennsylvania Avenue. The birds chirped from the trees, as a stiff breeze blew through the boughs with a sough, almost like the sound the rushing of the ocean makes as its waves recede from the shore.

Her ball snap clasp purse thumped against her side with each step, a tangible reminder that this was not her time period. 

Lucy remembered opening and closing the clasp on top of her grandmother’s old purse when she sat in the pew with her, on a rare Christmas when Carol would let her go with her overzealous — her words, not Lucy’s — Christian grandmother to church. Her lace collared dress would be itchy and the stockings scratchy but her beat up old mary jane’s were familiar and the carols emanating from the choir, angelically beautiful.

“What are you thinking about?” 

Lucy hummed a question, dragging her eyes away from the distinctly dressed passerby, to Wyatt’s questioning gaze. 

“Oh, you know… I was just thinking about my grandmother, _well_ , actually Amy’s grandmother since Grandma Alice was Henry Wallace’s mother, not my father’s mother. Anyways, I used to go to church with her for Christmas services and she had this little purse,” she grabbed up the bag and showed the top to him, “and it had a clasp like this one. It just made me think of her.” 

Lucy shrugged like it was no big deal, but Wyatt must have heard the catch in her voice when she spoke Amy’s name because he stopped them for just a moment, pulling her off to the side under a dogwood tree just now blossoming with little red buds that would become flowers soon, he removed his hat and held it between two hands.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Lucy glanced down at the hat that he was fiddling with.

“ _Lucy_ ,” Wyatt’s tone was warning and she thought of all the episodes of _I Love Lucy_ that she had watched over the years, and how Ricky Ricardo would get so aggravated at Lucy, and how she would act like nothing was amiss whenever he would try to get something out of her.

“I’m fine!” Lucy grabbed his hat from out of his hands and plopped it on his head. She grabbed his arm and dragged him after her.

After a few moments of quiet, split only by the sound of their soles against the gravel on the drive leading up to the White House, Lucy finally opened up.

“It’s just, thinking about Amy or anyone connected to Henry Wallace who I thought was my father, gets me feeling nostalgic for my dad and incredibly sad when I think that Amy’s probably never coming home.” Lucy’s voice grew thick with unshed tears, but she carried on, her heels crunching against the limestone rocks.

Wyatt squeezed her hand quickly before dropping it back to his side.

“My Grandpa Sherwin used to let me work with him in his shop, out back behind his house. He would make rocking chairs for people after he retired, always joked it was a dream of his to help other people relax when he should have been.” Wyatt shook his head in amusement at the memory. The smell of freshly carved wood as strong in his memories as it was when he was eight, and his grandpa would give him a piece of castoff wood, let him pound a nail into the fragment and pretend he was making something just as special as his beloved grandpa. 

“There’s something special about grandparents,” Lucy admitted, squeezing his arm where her hand still rested. 

“He was really special.” 

“He sounds like he was. Every time you talk about him, you get the same smile on your face. He must have really been something to make you smile like that.”

Wyatt gave her a half smile, that grew into a teasing grin, “I can think of someone else that makes me smile.”

“Be serious,” Lucy knocked her shoulder into his, barely even touching him, but he pretended like she did, staggering with such exaggeration that he almost ran into another couple strolling by.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy called, cringing at the glares the pair sent there way.

“My bad,” Wyatt bent his head to Lucy’s, her eyes shone with amusement and she laughed out loud when he mimicked the snooty faces the other couple had bestowed on them.

“Stop,” Lucy grabbed her side as she laughed, “I can’t breathe.”

Wyatt chuckled but stopped his teasing, his adoring gaze trained on Lucy’s bright eyes and blushing cheeks. Lucy sighed, brushing at the happy tears that had escaped, before she realized he was staring. Her brown eyes softened, but she cleared her throat, suddenly remembering they were on a mission and it was back to business.

—————

They walked around to the front of the building, where a small group of reporters hung around the steps, shooting the breeze and joking around with each other. A few glanced their way but dismissed them, turning back to their colleagues but one man stood off to the side, casually smoking a cigarette, and he seemed to have an interest in Lucy who his eyes hadn’t left since they rounded the side of the building.

Wyatt felt his hackles rise, but he ignored his own jealous reaction and decided that this man was probably their best bet to get information out of. He motioned Lucy forward and she took the lead, sashaying towards the other man whose eyes went straight to her swinging hips and almost had Wyatt seeing red. _Eyes up_ , he wanted to snap like a drill sergeant but he kept a tight rein on his tongue.

“Hi there, sugar,” Lucy’s eyes flashed as she glanced up at the man.

“Hey there, doll.” He looked Lucy up and down, from her Mary-Jane’s to the tip of her pink felt hat, a smirk crossing his face.

Wyatt clenched his fists but stood back and let Lucy handle the situation despite the urge that he had to punch the smug look off of this reporter’s face. 

“I’m Lucy,” She stuck her hand out and the other man took it, surprising Wyatt when he shook it instead of attempting to plant a flirty kiss on the back of her hand.

_Maybe this guy isn’t so bad_ , he thought, glancing behind him to gauge what the other reporters were up to. 

As soon as he turned back to Lucy, his thought about punching the guy came back full force, when he saw the reporter’s arm around her with his lips basically brushing her ear. Lucy looked uncomfortable to Wyatt, but she put on a flirty smile and fiddled with the man’s tie as if she had all the time in the world.

“Why don’t we get out of here? Let’s lose the fire extinguisher and find someplace quiet for the two of us to be alone,” The reporter whispered in Lucy’s ear, apparently not knowing or not caring that his whisper was closer to a shout. 

Wyatt gritted his teeth angrily. 

“Actually…” Lucy trailed off, her voice turning breathy and enticing, “I was wondering if you might help with another small problem.” 

Lucy picked at something on the reporter’s shoulder, but even in the early morning sunshine Wyatt couldn’t see anything against the dark fabric of the man’s suit coat. She brushed a hand across it as she leaned in even closer, her hand stroking down the other man’s arm. The reporter hung on her every word, his eyes barely even registering the movement of her hand as she snuck the press pass out of the other man’s hat, and passed it to Wyatt behind her back.

Wyatt was impressed, he had never know Lucy to be so sneaky before, maybe she was getting the hang of this role playing thing. 

She stayed wrapped around the other man for a few moments, and Wyatt tried to be patient but the man’s hand kept creeping past her waist and Wyatt wanted to grab that hand and break a few fingers to teach him a lesson.

“What do you think of Herbert Hoover?” Wyatt heard Lucy ask, as he tapped the press pass against his leg and watched the other reporters who started walking into the building as a group.

Wyatt pressed a impatient hand into Lucy’s back, ignoring the warmth of the silky dress fabric in favor of hurrying her along. Although he would be lying if the touch of her dress didn’t immediately send his thoughts racing to a night in the not so recent past, when his hands had gripped her in much more intimate embrace.

“Oh,” Lucy exclaimed, as if she had just now noticed the absence of the group of reporters, “I think you might be running a little late.” 

She pointed behind him with a steady finger at the door closing behind the last man. “I don’t know if your boss would like to hear that you missed out on a scoop because of little ol’ me…” Lucy drawled, convincingly, as the other man whirled to jog over to the swiftly closing door.

“Come on,” Wyatt whispered harshly. He grabbed her by the hand and swiftly ushered her behind a nearby hedge, and they booked it toward the side door. Lucy handed off the press pass to Wyatt who stuck it into the band on his hat before placing it back on his head. 

“Let’s go,” Wyatt opened the side door, surprised to see an empty hallway. 

The White House in their modern time was constantly crawling with Secret Service agents and security, to see a door unguarded in any way, in one of the most important buildings in their country was very unnerving, but perfect for two time travelers who needed to make an inconspicuous entrance. 

Lucy stepped in first, her high heeled shoes making distinctive _tap tap tap_ noises as she walked onto the bare hardwood floors. Wyatt glanced behind them and seeing no one following them, he closed the door quickly and led the way down the hallway. They passed what Wyatt assumed was the kitchen by the sounds of clattering plates, a rapid fire French dressing down and the smell of baking bread that wafted out from the crack underneath the door. Wyatt’s mouth watered, but he ignored it as they continued on, searching for the group of reporters who were now missing one of their number.

The hallway eventually led to a wide, open rotunda room and Lucy glanced up at the high ceilings in awe. Wyatt watched as she spun in a circle, almost like a pauper arriving at a castle and marveling at the riches that were beyond anything they had ever seen. Wyatt likes to think of Lucy as more of a princess, not the Rittenhouse kind which he had heard Emma Whitmore sling at Lucy, on more than one occasion, referencing her “royal” status in her family’s cult-like organization. Lucy was more like Diana, who was kind and considerate to everyone and didn’t care one iota about being royal but used her influence to protect and care for people less fortunate than she.

Dragging his eyes away from Lucy’s shining face, Wyatt focused on his surroundings. The clip of shoes on the glossy parquet floor echoed down a nearby hallway and Wyatt motioned Lucy to follow him.

“Um, excuse me, sir?” Wyatt stopped the elderly gentleman, “Would you happen to know where that group of reporters went? We accidentally got left behind.”

The older man peered down his nose at Wyatt, probably because his spectacles were perched precariously on the end of his nose and not because he was haughty, in fact, he kind of reminded Wyatt of his Grandpa Sherwin. Not that the man looked at all like his grandfather, and Sherwin had been very proud of his keen eyesight that had helped him shoot many a Nazi back in his day, but in the kind light that shown out of his eyes as he looked Wyatt over and then smiled politely at Lucy, who stood just behind him.

“Of course, young man, _miss_ , right this way.” He started off down the hallway. Wyatt kept his gaze on the man’s back as they followed him. 

The walls were painted a pale blue, and many golden-framed portraits graced the portal, the dark wood of the many doors and chair rail contrasted starkly. 

Lucy’s eyes grew round the farther they retreated into the old building. Her thoughts probably raced as they usually did when she stepped into any historical setting. She, more than likely, was imagining how many great men had walked through these doors — had lived, loved and governed from these very rooms. The White House in 1929 was Lucy Preston’s historical playground and she was relishing it.

“Here we are.” The older man stopped and gestured to an open doorway, where many voices echoed with a noise that sounded like a low hum. 

“Thank you very much.” Lucy piped up, proceeding Wyatt into the room and smiling kindly at the older gentleman as she passed him. 

“Thanks,” Wyatt nodded, then put out a hand and the older gentleman shook his with a surprisingly strong grip.

“You’re welcome.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Gretchen for always remaining excited about this fic and Katie for looking over it for me. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! <3

Wyatt and Lucy entered the crowded room together. The distinctive smell of coffee cut through the stronger scent of cigar smoke that floated above the men’s heads and got caught up against the ceiling. A ring of chairs encompassed the edges of the room, most of them occupied by dark-suited, slick-haired reporters, with round, white tableclothed tables situated in the center of the sumptuous Oriental rug that covered the same polished wood floors of the hallway. Wyatt and Lucy crossed to the closest table and poured themselves coffee from the silver service. Wyatt reached over and plopped two sugar cubes in Lucy’s cup while she poured just a dash of cream into his. Wyatt shot her a crooked smile and she shrugged one shoulder as they turned and made their way to two empty seats. Lucy sat down first, crossing her ankles and canting her legs to the side, then placed her handbag in her lap and took a sip of her coffee. Wyatt eyed her legs with interest but after catching her “ _really_?” glance he sat down beside her and focused on his surroundings instead of the tantalizing woman beside him. 

“What are you thinking?” Lucy leaned over, her shoulder brushing his and her hair sending a faint whiff of apple shampoo his way as she spoke quietly into his ear. 

“I’m hoping that we can get to the president before any shit goes down,” Wyatt admitted frankly, as he watched the open doorway with an eagle eye.

“I meant, how are we going to get a moment alone with the president in this large group?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.” Wyatt mumbled against the rim of his coffee cup, trying to keep their private, mission-oriented conversation from reaching curious ears.

Lucy set her coffee cup down on the seat next to her and leaned in even further, a flirty smile on her face as she placed a hand on his leg. Wyatt swallowed too quickly and choked on his coffee. Despite his knowledge that she was acting a part to throw those who may be paying too close attention to them, she had surprised him with her brazen touch.

Lucy eyed him smugly as he tried to quell his coughing and keep his coffee from spilling onto the expensive rug. Lucy finally took pity on him and grabbed the cup from his hands and set it down beside hers.

Wyatt pressed a hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. He felt too warm all of a sudden and it wasn’t from the hot coffee had just drank. Lucy removed a handkerchief from her handbag and passed it to him as she rubbed a hand along his back. Wyatt wanted to be annoyed at her but he couldn’t be, not when she was just doing her job. It wasn’t her fault that he was so easily affected by her touch. 

Wyatt shrugged out of his jacket. The chill of the room doing a lot to help control his coughing. Lucy continued to rub him on the back. She smiled politely at a few of the curious who looked over at them, but she turned her focus back to Wyatt once they looked away.

“Okay?” she asked when he finally could catch his breath.

“Just peachy,” Wyatt’s voice came out all scratchy and he cleared his throat as he handed the hanky back to her.

Lucy rolled her eyes at his tone and removed her hand from his back. She opened the top of her bag with a snap and stuck the handkerchief back inside. 

The hum of voices filled the room as the reporters continued to wait for the presidential appearance at the press conference. Wyatt couldn’t help but think how things could be different between them, even now, if he hadn’t let his wife’s return ruin the best thing that have ever happened to him. Being so close to Lucy these last few missions has really given him a new perspective on how much better and more fulfilling his life would be with her filling that empty place beside him. Not just in the physical sense, but emotionally as well. 

His heart had been an open fracture until he met the small brunette historian. With her sweet smiles, bone-crushing hugs, and the trust and friendship that had developed between them she had filled in every crevice that he had once believed could never be repaired. Hers was a love given freely without attachments or expectations and he had thrown it all away. He felt guilty for everything that he had allowed to happen after his brutal mistake of letting Jessica into the bunker and back into his life despite the fact that he no longer really knew her.

He felt like a broken record, even to himself, but his guilt was constant and unrelenting. Not until he had made everything right would he be able to move on. 

After saving Rufus, mending his relationship with Lucy was the next step. He just didn’t know how she felt about the whole thing. _Does she even want to be with me?_ he wondered as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She bit her lip as she looked around the room, her fingers tapping against the top of her bag out of nervousness. 

Wyatt reached over and stilled her fidgeting with his hand, and she looked up at him in surprise as he wrapped his fingers around her own. He smiled at her softly and she smiled back, her brown eyes shining in the light coming in through the bay windows across the room. 

_He wanted to hold her again_ , he thought, while the warmth of her small hand in his expanded an elated feeling in his chest. He wanted to see her face light up with happiness again, like it had done when they were in the bunker after their trip to Hollywood. She had looked so beautiful standing there with a brilliant smile and wearing his flannel shirt. She was probably just as anxious as he was about this whole situation. Ignoring the little voice inside that told him to give her space, to not do too much, too soon, he put his arm around her shoulders. 

Wyatt was surprised with how suddenly her shoulders relaxed under his arm, the nervous tension of only a moment earlier flowing out of her. A sudden hope shot through him. Maybe she did still care for him, maybe she did want to attempt to work their relationship out. He opened his mouth to ask her that very thing when an abrupt movement from the corner of his eye had him jerking his head around. He pulled Lucy down to the floor with him as a bullet hit the back of the chair he had just been sitting in. 

Wyatt caught a flash of red hair and dark clothes, the report of the gun firing sounding muffled in the rush of blood in his ears as another bullet hurtled toward them. 

The sound of running feet, chair legs scraping against the floor and the crashing of dropped and broken coffee cups crunching underfoot was faint background noise as Wyatt’s heart beat frantically in his chest. Fear for Lucy’s life shot through his veins like ice floes down a flooding, raging river after a snowstorm. Thrusting her behind him, he raised his own weapon that he had instinctively pulled from his holster in the intensity of the moment and pointed it at Emma Whitmore. 

The one door that the reporters had escaped through was blocked by one of her Rittenhouse goons. Apparently now that she had gotten rid of all the witnesses she would actually get her monologue out so that they could get on with whatever _this_ was.

Emma’s green eyes assessed them coolly, focusing in on Lucy’s hands which were gripped tightly around Wyatt’s arm. She lay sprawled with her legs out to the side, where she had fallen when Wyatt had dragged her to the floor to try to take cover. 

“Well, the princess seems to have found her knight in shining armor, but can he really save you from the big bad Rittenbitch?” She cocked her head, a red curl dangling on top of her shoulder, as she smirked at them.

Wyatt’s finger tightened on the trigger as he watched her slowly come closer. Her skirt swirled around her legs, the emerald green of the fabric shining in the light like the beryl stone of the same name. 

A drop of sweat trickled down the back of Wyatt’s neck and his stomach rolled at the thought of them not making it out of the room alive. What he wouldn’t give for another day with Lucy, if only he could tell her that he still loved her. _Would he ever have the chance again?_ The thought frightened him more than he would like to admit.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat and quieting the fearful thoughts that raced through his mind, he looked for any weaknesses in Emma’s team. Like the usual Rittenhouse muscle, the men looked tough and capable in a fight, but their intelligence left much to be desired if the blank stares on their faces were any indication. Wyatt decided he would use that to his advantage.

“What do you want, Emma?” 

“What any girl wants, Wyatt … _revenge_.” Her eyes darkened with anger as she glared down at them. 

Wyatt felt his stomach drop, the only revenge Emma wanted was against Lucy for being pure blood Rittenhouse and having the whole organization handed to her just because of her parents’ roles, never mind that Lucy didn’t want it or any part of it. Emma, who had not a single drop of Rittenhouse blood, felt that the glory was owed her because of her continuous and longtime devotion to them. Fanatical was the word Wyatt would use to describe her supposed devotion, if the wicked gleam in her eyes was anything to go by.

Wyatt slipped his hand down to Lucy’s knee and squeezed it in reassurance as he watched Emma pace the room like a caged tiger at the zoo. Lucy’s breathing shuddered with nervousness as she exhaled and Wyatt turned his head to look at her. She tried to smile at him bravely, but he noticed the tremble at the corner of her lips. He nodded at her, trying to reinforce thoughts of hope and comfort with his eyes. Lucy’s brown irises were almost obliterated by pupils dilated with fear, but she swallowed and willed her face into a mask of calm.

The door opened with a creak of hinges in need of oil or WD-40. Wyatt wondered when that had been created for a split second before he saw the opportunity he needed. Emma and her goons all turned to look at the person standing in the doorway, taking their eyes off of Wyatt and Lucy long enough for him to get her up and running for the other door.

“This way,” Wyatt called to Lucy despite their being no need for him to shout directions as he pulled her by the arm behind him. Lucy followed willingly, fear for her life kicking in and, despite being shorter and in high heels, she kept pace with him as they raced down the White House hallways in an attempt to escape Emma’s deadly Rittenhouse wrath. He ignored the shouts from behind him, likely Emma’s henchman holding guns on them, but he didn’t care. He would rather take action to protect himself and the woman he loved than stand still and let death come for them. 

Wyatt’s breath whooshed in his chest as sweat trickled down the sides of his face. The day outside was cold and blustery, but inside it was hot and he was warmed from exertion. 

He could hear Lucy’s breath as well, although it was peppered with the sound of their footfalls bouncing off the floors and echoing behind them. Wyatt wished for carpet or a rug so that their trail of sound wouldn’t be quite so easy to follow, but this area of the White House looked fairly new and not as well decorated or furnished as the room they had escaped from. 

“It’s probably ... a bad time ... to mention it but … these shoes pinch,” Lucy complained as she rested her hand against the wall to steady herself, her breathing harsh and gasping.

“You’re probably right,” Wyatt flinched as a bullet whizzed past him and hit some fancy and probably very old plaster work, sending white powder raining down on their heads.

“Watch out,” Wyatt shouted, jumping across the corridor and pressing Lucy up against a glossy, cherry wood door as a bullet hit right where she had just been standing. Their eyes locked for a moment before Emma’s taunting voice followed them down the hallway.

“Tsk, tsk, you cost me my killshot, Master Sergeant. That wasn’t very nice.” Her amused voice echoed off of the bare walls and wood floors making her sound like she was in multiple places at once.

“First, Rufus and now Lucy? I don’t think so. Sorry, _Emma_ , but I have no reservations when it comes to stopping you and your single-minded, elitist cult.” Wyatt pulled his weapon, careful not to point it toward Lucy and instead toward his target.

“Well, isn’t that a tad overdramatic?” Emma stalled, her heeled shoes clicking on the polished wood floors as she drew closer. The closer proximity of Emma’s body meant she had them in better range with a greater chance for her to hit her target and Wyatt didn’t want to take that chance, not with his life in her line of fire and definitely not with Lucy’s.

Grabbing the handle of the door they still huddled against and praying that it was not locked, he pushed down on the curved brass and pushed them into the room. Slamming the door with unusual force, he quickly engaged the lock.

Pulling an unprotesting Lucy behind him, he crossed to the large bay of windows and away from the door, just in case Emma decided to try and shoot her way in. 

Wyatt inspected the room with a cursory glance, noting the entrances and exits, the wardrobe against one wall with a desk centered in front of the large windows. His mind raced as he tried to formulate a plan of action in order to keep them both alive. Lucy’s face was white with tension and her hands were gripped together tightly, but his Lucy was brave and he knew that they could get through this together. 

Wyatt expected to hear Emma or one of her goons banging on the door as they tried to pursue them but everything was quiet. The view of the gardens through the windows and the city in the background darkened as clouds rolled in, blocking out the early spring sunshine and sending fingers of foreboding down Wyatt’s spine. He suppressed a shiver and, bending over the desk, he set his weapon down as he rifled through the papers on top. But the scrawl of old school cursive was indecipherable and it blurred together before his eyes. Cursing his inability to focus, he rubbed a hand across his face and walked around the desk to pace in front of it.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy exclaimed, startling Wyatt from his brooding thoughts. Her eyes brightened as she glanced around the room.

“What? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Wyatt turned Lucy to face him, he rubbed his hands down her arms looking for any blood, a rip in her dress or a bullet wound.

“Wyatt, I’m fine. She didn’t hit me,” Lucy explained, grabbing his hands and pulling them away from her body. “It’s just this —” she gestured to the white-walled room with navy blue carpet, “ _This_ is the Oval Office. Can you believe it?”

Wyatt shrugged, dropping Lucy’s hands and taking off his hat to drop onto the president’s desk. Lucy snatched it up with alacrity and set it on a nearby chair, her face cloudy with disappointment.

“Wyatt, this is the president’s office. The most important decisions that affect our country are discussed in this very room. Roosevelt will probably look out this window, onto the lawn, when he decides to allow our country to join in the fight after the devastation of Pearl Harbor. Reagan, who serves in that very same war in the Air Force, will bring this country into an era of economic growth and he will reduce government spending. In fact, he and Franklin D. Roosevelt both left their time in office with an approval rating of 68%.  
John F. Kennedy, who also fought in World War II — he was a lieutenant in the Navy and earned a Purple Heart — will stand off against Kruschev over the Cuban missile crisis sitting at this same desk, probably in a different chair,” Lucy huffed out a laugh like she had just told a joke, “but _still_.” 

Lucy’s information dump was enough to distract him for the moment from his concerns about Emma and Rittenhouse as he watched her face change with the intensity of her emotions. 

Any other person would have seemed crazy to him if he had seen them ranting and raving over past presidents, but Lucy was something else … her favorite subject bringing out a passion in her that was rarely seen outside of the work that they do. 

He wished that he could evoke that kind of passion in her once again. It had been lost so easily after their trip to Chinatown and their subsequent loss of Rufus and it had only quite recently come back. _God he loved her._ He wished he could tell her, but he decided it would probably be better to stay on topic.

“Hard to believe that scrappy kid became such a hardened negotiator,” Wyatt chuckled, thinking about the young John that they had met and held in the bunker for a short period of time. 

Lucy paced to that very same window, her heels muffled by the softness of the carpet, the pink flowers on her dress bright in the late winter sunshine that shone through the windows before the clouds blocked it out again.

Lucy grew quiet, a contrast to how effusive she had been just a moment before. 

_What did I say?_ Wyatt shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, wondering for a fraction of a second where Emma had gone off to and whether he should worry that she could come back at any moment. 

_How can such a random mention of JFK bring about such a change in her?_ Wyatt wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t know how to bring it up and not seem insensitive of her feelings.

Maybe it _was_ the mention of JFK. So much heartache and pain centered around that time in the bunker, with Jessica’s return causing so much tension between them while Lucy’s injury and subsequent fever had seized his heart in a vice-like grip of fear. 

Those few days when she had been laid up with fever had been the worst of his life except for her kidnapping by Flynn when she had been missing for what felt like ages and spanned a century. Not to mention those six weeks that she had been with her mother and he had been stuck inside the bunker wondering if they would ever see each other again. 

His fear that their modern antibiotics wouldn’t have any effect on the 17th-century germs that infected her was multiplied by his inability to be by her side while she tossed and turned in the bunker bed that had turned into a sick bed with an inexperienced Jiya as her nurse.

“Lucy?” Wyatt drew closer while pushing his hands into his pockets, his worried gaze resting on Lucy’s face, “You do know how much I regret bringing Jessica into the bunker, don’t you?”

Lucy looked over her shoulder at him, a look of surprise leaving her mouth open in shock. _Surprised that he actually understood what she was upset about so quickly, maybe?_ But she schooled her features and placed a hand on the desk chair back.

“Of course. I saw that instant look of regret on your face when I came back from Salem. But I didn’t get a chance to ... to even talk to you about the whole situation because she was there all of a sudden, living with us. I couldn’t even talk to you anymore, my friend first and foremost, because I felt like she would _know_ what happened between us just by looking at my face. I could barely look at her without feeling shame churn in my belly. I know, she _was_ dead but then she wasn’t and I didn’t have you or anyone else to talk to about it. Do you know how discouraging that is? To not have a _single_ friend to confide in? Jessica didn’t just hurt our romantic relationship, that choice hurt our friendship. I don’t know if I can ever forgive _her_ for that, but I know you didn’t think you had any other choice, so I respect that.”

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt blew out a breath, pushing his coat back with one hand to rest a hand on his hip. “I let the shock of her return take over and I didn’t even think how it would affect you. I should have been a better friend as well. We’ve all been cut off from the people we love because of this whole time travel thing. It’s hard on all of us and I agree that we should support each other no matter what happens. That includes Rufus, Jiya, Agent Christopher, Mason and yes, even Flynn.”

Lucy looked like she wanted to laugh, but she held it in.

“I didn’t know you cared about Flynn, Wyatt,” she teased, a twinkle appearing in her eyes as she uncrossed her arms and turned fully toward him. 

“Forget about Flynn. I care about _you_.” Wyatt struggled with what to say to her, the suddenness of the feeling that came over him when she looked at him taking his breath away.

The sun lit her hair from behind with an auburn glow like the brightest of fall leaves and he longed to feel the silky cool weight of it in his hands. The recollection of the feel of her hair between his fingers, the softness of the curls and the familiar scent were beginning to fade as time erased it from his memory. He wanted to shore it up with a new memory, one that wouldn't fade away quite so quickly. 

He took a step closer, the beating of his heart increasing as her eyes dropped to his lips. With the closer proximity, Wyatt could see the slight dusting of freckles across the top of her nose. Her eyes softened as he moved closer, the warmth in them paralleled by the heat building between them. 

He wanted to hold her so badly he could feel the ache in his fingers, but he didn’t want to take advantage without her knowing the full extent of his feelings. Yes, he had told her loved her back at the bunker after all the shit that went down in Chinatown, the bone-crushing guilt that had followed him back from that godforsaken time period had threatened to pull him under. But Lucy was there _still_ , she was hurting and she needed him. 

He meant to pull away, he was _going_ to pull away, but then she was the one kissing him. She wrapped her arms around his neck like she was giving him one of her famous hugs, but her lips were soft against his and instead of the brush of her hair against his cheek, one of her hands dragged down the side of his face. She grew more desperate and he lost all ability to think, the only sensation existing to him was the touch of her lips on his and the grip of her hands as she held him close.

The sweetly floral scent of her reminded him of the closeness of her body when he had woken up beside her back in 1774 at the inn. The scent clinging to her had lingered on his shirt afterward and floated around him to tease at his senses as they completed the mission the next day.

The feeling of her in his arms was reminiscent of the starlit night under the wagon along the Oregon Trail. The ground underneath the wagon had been hard and uncomfortable against Wyatt’s back, but Lucy’s softness against him had driven all his other senses haywire. 

Today was no different. His head was reeling as if he were underwater and oxygen deprived, disoriented from the sensory overload that she was currently evoking in him.

The click of the door opening and the sound of it closing barely registered in Wyatt’s consciousness, so distracted was he by the woman he had his arms wrapped around.

A soft throat clearing woke him out of his Lucy-filled haze. 

Wyatt and Lucy broke apart. Lucy immediately pressed a hand to her mouth, while Wyatt casually shoved his hands into his coat pockets like he was about to go out for a Sunday afternoon stroll. 

Warmth flooded Lucy’s cheeks. She wasn’t exactly embarrassed to be caught making out with Wyatt, but they were all over each other in the Oval Office and this was the president of the United States.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Katie for helping me clean this chapter up! And Gretchen for being there for me, always!
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait. :D
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated! <3

“What are you two doing in here?” The president’s quiet voice questioned them, the softness of it so  
much more effective than a loud, threatening voice would have been. 

Wyatt just shrugged his shoulders and looked Calvin Coolidge dead in the eye, “We were chased in here by your would-be assassin. She realized we were on to her and tried to shoot us so we came in through the unlocked door.”

The president looked pensive for a moment, a frown forming between his eyebrows, before he crossed the floor and set a folded up newspaper on his desk. He eyed Wyatt’s weapon but ignored it to pierce them with a serious, blue-eyed gaze.

“Probably not a good idea to have an unlocked door to my office when there’s an assassin about,” he joked quietly as he turned around and leaned up against his desk with his arms crossed.

“Probably not,” Lucy smiled at him as she moved closer to Wyatt’s side.

“Do you always bring your girlfriend with you when you chase after would-be assassins? Who do you work for anyway?” 

“FBI,” Lucy piped up when she noticed Wyatt gaping. 

“That’s right,” Wyatt added, “We’re with the FBI and we got a tip, by phone, that someone was going to try to kill you. That’s the whole reason we’re here: to protect you.”

Coolidge listened to Wyatt with a seriousness that exuded from the top of his head to the wingtips on his shoes.

“We really are sorry. She chased us in here and we weren’t sure whether she left or if she was lying in wait to kill us. We got caught up.” 

Coolidge waved a dismissive hand before standing up and moving to sit behind his desk.

The door banged open, landing against the wall with a crash, and Wyatt and Lucy whirled around to find a gun pointed at them. 

They heaved sighs of relief when they recognized the face behind the modern gun. 

“Flynn!” Rufus sputtered as he tried to catch his breath, “put down the gun! This isn’t the time to ‘ _Flynn it up_!’” Flynn rolled his eyes but holstered his weapon.

“Excuse us, Mr. President,” he apologized, “we were expecting an assassin.”

“So I’ve heard.” Coolidge tented his fingers on top of his desk and leveled a stare at them.

“Sorry about that.” Rufus smiled apologetically, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to mop at his sweaty forehead. 

“Who is this assassin? And what could she have to gain by removing me from this Earth on the last day of my presidency?”

All four of them looked around at each other, all afraid to admit that it really was just a lucky guess that had brought them to the White House that day.

“We’ve encountered her before, that’s all. The organization she works for isn’t averse to taking these kinds of risks in attempting to take out world leaders.” Wyatt finally spoke up.

“World leaders?” the president repeated, glancing down at the cover of the newspaper in front of him on the desk.

“Oh, you know,” Rufus butted in, “presidents, kings, sometimes religious leaders like the Pope …” he trailed off, the mention of Catholicism maybe not his best idea. He shrugged at Lucy’s cautionary glance. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Wyatt spared Rufus a exasperated look, “we should probably get back out there. Make sure she’s truly taken care of before she can harm you or Herbert Hoover.”

“I’ll uh,” Wyatt gestured to his gun laying beside the president’s blue suited arm, “take that.”

Calvin Coolidge nodded succinctly and Wyatt took that as a dismissal to leave the soon to be former president to do whatever it is you do on your last day in office and shooed his team out the door as he holstered his weapon.

—————

“So … that’s Calvin Coolidge.” Rufus walked next to Lucy as they headed down the hall to hopefully leave the White House interior and head out onto the lawn and down the road to the Capitol building, where the inauguration would take place. “He doesn’t say much, does he?”

The many paintings they passed portrayed various watercolors of summer days and picnics, but as soon as they opened the side door that led outside, a cold, stinging rain pelted them. 

Rufus was glad to have his jacket and hat, but he felt bad seeing Lucy shivering in her warm weather dress and a hat with the tiniest brim that wouldn’t even shield her eyes from the sun, if there was any to speak of, which there wasn’t. Dark grey clouds hovered over the area and looked as if they were there to stay. 

Lucy grabbed onto Rufus’s arm as her shoe suddenly slid against the grass slick with rain and he grabbed onto her hand reflexively as she tried to regain her balance. 

“Thanks.” Lucy smiled up at him, before answering his earlier question, “Yes, that’s him and yes, he was known for being a very quiet man, never very outspoken. He acquired the moniker ‘Silent Cal’ because he never talked very much about anything, even though he was accomplished at giving speeches. That’s why many people didn’t expect him to become president after Warren G. Harding, but Harding died of a heart attack while in San Francisco. Coolidge was sworn in, in the parlor of his Vermont family home, and then went straight back to bed afterwards.”

“Really? He must have needed his beauty sleep.”

Lucy rolled her eyes but still laughed at Rufus’ joke. A sudden shiver overtook her as they followed the crowd down around to the front of the White House steps, but Wyatt was there suddenly, offering her his jacket. She put it on before grabbing his hand as he ushered her through the throng. 

“I’m fine, thanks for asking!” Rufus called after Wyatt over the sound of the rain and wind rushing through the trees and the chattering of the crowd. 

Flynn came up beside him as they followed the pair of lovebirds. “Do you ever feel like the fourth wheel?” Rufus asked Flynn.

“Yes … yes, I do. Thanks for reminding me, Rufus.”

“You’re welcome,” Rufus replied, grinning cheekily as he glanced over at the other man. 

Flynn settled his hat more firmly on his head, the red of the hat band coordinating with the deep red of his suit jacket and trousers. Rufus had to give it to Flynn: He may have been a murdering psychopath, but he had great style.

“What are you staring at, Rufus?” Flynn drawled, startling Rufus from his musing.

“Nothing,” Rufus spit out, turning his head to pay attention to anything else. Flynn probably wouldn’t appreciate the knowledge that Rufus was perusing his clothes like he would a Jos. A. Bank flyer that arrived in the mail. 

“Wait a minute! Where are Wyatt and Lucy?” Rufus glanced over the tops of the shorter people’s heads, straining to catch a flash of dark curls and a pink floral dress in the constantly moving crowd.

They dodged the milling pairs and groups that dotted the yellowed winter grass. Apparently, even the White House gardeners couldn’t do much about the effects of the season, but soon the grass would be green and plentiful once more. 

Rufus felt like he had a lead brick in his stomach when their search of the crowd didn’t produce the soldier and his historian. His friends are missing in 1929 and Flynn was his only ally now in the search for the pair. 

“I don’t know where they could have gone. They aren’t so loved up that they would forget about the mission and find someplace to shack up. What if Emma came back and kidnapped them or something?” Rufus rambled, his nervousness causing his tongue to loosen even more than usual.

“Let’s look in town, maybe they were thirsty or something and went looking for a drink at a drugstore.” Flynn suggested. 

Rufus shrugged. It made sense to him and he didn’t have any better ideas. 

They set off away from the many people crowding toward the White House and the inaugural ceremony that was the highlight of the early spring day in the Capital. The rain continued as they walked down the main street, the water puddling in the crevices between the brick cobblestones and pouring down the gutters, purling in swirls and foaming in miniature waves as it descended into the sewer system below.

_April showers bring May flowers, but what does a March deluge bring? Misery_ , Rufus thought, as they trudged across the street, the wind whipping icy fingers through his jacket and sending freezing droplets from his hat brim down the back of his neck.

_Old Ebbitt Grill_ suddenly clicked in Rufus’s head as he gazed up at the restaurant lintel.

“Hey! I recognize this place,” Rufus said, stopping Flynn in his tracks with his exclamation as the other man pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears. 

“This place,” Flynn gestured to it with a lazy hand. “Are you sure?” 

The stone facade looked brand new and the engraved name over the wide windows glistened under the sunlight that shone through the clouds and then was extinguished again as the rain pounded harder. It was almost exactly how he remembered it.

“Come on.” Rufus motioned Flynn to follow him into the restaurant when they heard a shout ring down the closest alleyway.

Rufus veered off and Flynn followed as they ran down the alley, coming to an immediate stop when they reached the group of three people standing under the eaves with water dripping from their clothes and hair. 

Wyatt and Lucy stood with their backs against the wall and Jessica stood in front of them, her weapon pointed straight at Lucy who was partway hidden behind Wyatt’s body. Lucy’s dress had mud smeared down one side, the pretty pink flowers now muddled by brownish gray splotches and her hair straggled around her ears, when earlier that afternoon it had been pinned and tucked neatly under her matching pink hat. Wyatt looked none the worse for wear except for his missing hat and the water that soaked each and every one of them, but his blue eyes were wide and pleading as they scanned his former wife’s face, which was dark with an unsympathetic scowl.

“Jess, please,” Rufus heard as he and Flynn skidded to a stop in front of them. Flynn’s hand immediately went toward the weapon in his waistband, but he eased it out carefully and Rufus silently sighed in relief when Jessica didn’t notice. Her chest heaved with untempered rage and her skimpy black dress looked more suited to a night on the town than a spring afternoon in the nation’s capital.

Jessica’s teeth chattered, none of them apparently thinking to check the weather that had probably been written in newspapers from the day of the Inauguration, and she apparently didn’t think to find a coat before she accosted her “husband” and the woman he loved.

Wyatt’s hands were upraised in front of him in a surrendering position and Lucy’s fingers were white where they gripped his arm. His hands shook from fear and the cold air, the light blue sleeves of his shirt looked like they were molded to his arms from all of the moisture in the air. 

Lucy looked as petrified as he’d ever seen her. Her wide, brown eyes were trained on the weapon in Jessica’s quavering hand. Dark streaks of mascara dripped down both women’s faces as if the rain streaming down portrayed their inner feelings of helplessness and anger. 

Lucy jerked as a harsh shiver shook her whole body, a stray glass bottle near her foot clinking against the building foundation, and she squeezed her eyes shut. A small shriek emanated from her mouth as Jessica’s grip on the gun tightened. Rufus felt an immediate drop  
in his stomach at the sight of her finger tightening on the trigger. He had no doubt that the safety was off and it sent a jolt of fear through him to see it pointed at his unarmed friend. 

Wyatt’s warning cry made the other man’s voice sound deeper and more desperate than it had been back when Flynn had kidnapped Lucy and taken her to the World’s Fair in 1893. The fear and worry that had made itself clear in the hangar at Mason as Wyatt hung his head and admitted that he had let Flynn take her away had pulled at Rufus’s heartstrings then, but Wyatt’s hopeless cry to save Lucy from a cruel death erupted goosebumps on his arms that had nothing to do with the cold wind blowing down the alleyway.

“I can’t allow you to ruin this for me,” Jessica finally spoke, an almost fanatical gleam in her eyes as she released the tension on the trigger. She used her other hand to casually push her wet bangs back off her forehead. 

“Rittenhouse can’t have you two running through various time periods and undoing what we have done. It’s like herding cats with you two. You carouse through the past, stopping our agents from completing their missions and killing those who dare to try and stop you. You’re apparently attached at the hip in the future as you bombard our headquarters with guerilla attacks and sneaky trips to our present day. You _even_ ,” Jessica released a dry chuckle, gesturing at Rufus, who watched the unfolding tableau with awe and rising fear, “bring people back from the dead and ruin our plans.”

“You can keep your one-liners to yourself,” Jessica retorted as soon as Rufus opened his mouth to make a snarky comment. He snapped his mouth shut, suddenly afraid that she was going to point the gun that she was still holding in her hand at him. He had already had that experience, from a Rittenhouse lackey, and he did not want to relive it again one bit. 

Flynn still stood next to him, his threatening presence comforting, funnily enough. The man who had once had him shot and nearly killed now stood next to him, ready to protect their team, and he wouldn’t have been more surprised if lightning had come down from the heavens, right at that moment, and struck him dead. 

The gun in Flynn’s gloved hand was thankfully, hidden against the darkness of his pant leg in the dim light that filtered down in between the two buildings. The rush of tires on the wet pavement could be heard faintly in the distance, the rain hitting the roof next door a consistent _tink tink tink_ penetrating his consciousness.

Adrenaline tensed Rufus’ muscles and he noticed the same in Wyatt and Flynn’s bodies. Lucy’s grip on Wyatt had to be killing her fingers but she didn’t release him from her grasp. The tension-filled air thrummed and Rufus wondered just how this moment was going to end. Jessica was unpredictable and he didn’t trust her one bit, her finger on the gun’s trigger the only thing separating Lucy from certain death.

Four things happened at once: Lucy screamed, Wyatt lunged, Rufus ducked and Flynn shot.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Gretchen for always building me up and all your help with this story, and Katie for fixing my mistakes and listening when I have my mini-meltdowns.
> 
> I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I know what y’all have been waiting on! ;)

Rufus didn’t know what to think for a moment, as the proverbial smoke cleared. He felt the dampness on his knees from where he kneeled in the damp alley, a dull pain aching in one that had gone down harder than the other. Flynn stood next to him, his gun back at his side, but Rufus had no doubt that one bullet had been expended from the chamber and that it had found its mark. Jessica’s body lay halfway propped up against the brick wall with her legs sprawled before her in the middle of the alleyway. Rufus gaped at the bullet hole that bloomed deep red blood from Jessica’s chest, her eyes staring ahead, blank in death.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins and he gasped with a hand to his chest, a phantom memory of blood, dark and sticky, pooling between his own fingers as he struggled to take in a breath that was clear of fluid. 

He shifted his eyes from the dead body that his own body was having some kind of weird reaction to and tried to focus on anything else that would ease the panic attack he felt creeping its way into his chest.

Lucy’s bright dress caught his eye and he zeroed in on it. Everything faded away as he got lost in his own head.

 

————

 

Wyatt’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, the pounding of it keeping up with his racing thoughts. Jessica’s face was dark with anger and hate and Wyatt didn’t recognize the woman that was his wife anymore. Her finger on the trigger scared him to death, but it wasn’t fright for his own life that had his heart racing like a wild mustang on the run through wide open plains. His fear was for Lucy’s life.

Wyatt’s military training had prepared him for many situations and taught him many unique skills but none of those exercises had prepared him for the loss of his comrades in battle much less the loss of his wife. Losing Lucy would be another crushing blow that he wasn’t sure he would be able to handle.

He thought that Jessica’s death had prepared him for the same hollow feeling he had felt when the detective had showed up to his door and told him that they had found his missing wife and that she was dead. He thought maybe the awful feeling of his stomach dropping to his feet would have become familiar with every dangerous situation Lucy was put in, but _this_ … there was nothing to prepare him for the shock of watching the woman he loved die right in front of his eyes. The thought was so unbearable that he pushed it away as he watched Jessica’s finger tighten on the trigger and he prayed that whatever happened, he wouldn’t have to see his worst nightmare play out right in front of his eyes. He would beg for her to kill him too if that was what it would take for him to end the horrible feeling of loss that he knew would rip through him, just like the bullet from his wife’s gun.

He thought he was prepared for the sound of the gun going off. He even reacted with a lunge, maybe hoping to take the shot in Lucy’s place. His military training had given him quick reflexes that he now relied on, despite the feeling that his brain had short circuited as the sound of a bullet discharging from the weapon echoed in his head.

He felt like the sight of the blood seeping out of the hole in Jessica’s chest and the sight of her dead eyes should shock him as much as seeing his original Jessica’s body cold and lifeless, laying on a metal table in the morgue, but all he felt was relief. This Jess had manipulated and tormented him, kidnapped his friend, held him at gunpoint all while also isolating Lucy and being a Rittenhouse lackey. They were definitely not points in her favor. She had bitterly blown away any of the expectations he may have had when he first realized she was back and _alive_.

His Jessica he remembered fondly despite the terrible end that had come for her — the new and unfamiliar giddiness of first love when they had met in high school, the nervousness he had felt, his hands shaking as he had proposed to her, the blissful weeks after their marriage before it had all gone to pot. 

He had such high hopes for their marriage despite not having positive memories of his own parents’ marriage to base his on. He had assumed that their love would keep them together, but he had let jealousy tear them apart and then she was gone. No amount of effort could bring her back now, no matter how hard he tried or how many time machines were available, _that_ was gone forever and now her doppelgänger was, too. 

Lucy’s sobs brought him back to his senses and he hurried to her side, dropping to his knees in front of her. He pressed desperate hands to her cheeks and lifted her face to his. Gratefulness flooded through him as he found her to be unharmed, the sound of the bullet leaving the chamber having come from Flynn’s gun and not Jessica’s. Wyatt thanked God or whoever was listening that Lucy was okay.

Lucy’s tears, which had been threatening to spill over for what felt like hours now, slowly inched down her face. Her dark lashes were spiky from the rain and her hat flopped from the drenching that she had received. She shivered from the cold and Wyatt wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close to his body. He pressed her head to rest against his shoulder with a gentle hand and let her cry. 

“It’s okay, she’s gone,” he finally said. He didn’t even know why he said it. It just came out as he felt Lucy still trembling against him. He smoothed a hand over her head, ignoring the chill the dampness of her hair gave his fingers.

Lucy sniffed, her shoulders slowly loosening from the tension of the moment and the force of her sobs. 

“Are you okay?” she managed to ask as she wiped at her tear-streaked face, her luminous brown eyes piercing him with a sorrowful gaze. 

Wyatt wanted to assure her — _of course he was okay, why wouldn’t he be_ — but he hadn’t even realized that he had put his back to the sight of Jessica’s body. With her “second” death, he was trying to shield himself from the hurt and he didn’t know why. _He didn’t love this version of her, so why should he feel regret at her death …_

“I — I do feel sadness for her … this Jessica had to become loyal to Rittenhouse so that she could keep Kevin alive. I guess I can kind of relate — losing Rufus was like losing a brother to me — but I don’t know if I would have ever given in to Rittenhouse's demands if I had been given the chance to save him with their help. Rufus wouldn’t have wanted that, wouldn’t want _that_. I feel sad that she thought that was her only option because she loved him so much.” 

Lucy watched his face intently as if expecting him to crumple into tears when all he really wanted to do was pull her close and relish the fact that she was still alive. 

She lifted her hand from where it rested in her lap and rubbed his arm, the soft touch comforting him in a way that he had never felt before. _How could such a simple touch bring out such a longing in him?_ It was baffling to say the least. 

Wyatt felt like his chest was filling up with sunshine despite the cold and wet alleyway they still sat in. That she cared about how he felt so much that she ignored the fact that she had almost been killed. It filled him with hope that she did love him as much as he loved her. 

She lifted a hand to his cheek, her thumb smoothing over it as her fingers curled into his hair, and Wyatt forgot the trauma of the moment as he got lost in the warmth of her eyes and the love that shone out of them. 

“Lucy, I … what I said back in the bunker after _everything_ , I meant it, I still mean it, _I love you_.”

Wyatt didn’t know what he expected to happen next, but she was wrapped around him immediately, leaving him no more room to think as she surrounded him. Her lips were chilled against his own, but they soon warmed up, as did her palms against his cheeks as she pressed her body against his. Her knees pressed into his, as she knelt in front of him and took control. He let her. The overwhelming feelings she was evoking in him left him shell-shocked like a soldier on an open plain with no cover and the battle right before him.

She pulled back on a sigh, her forehead pressed to his, and Wyatt was simply amazed by the fact that she loved him. All the things that he had done, every painful moment, every tear that was shed between them and every moment where he forced himself to turn away from her because he was married, suddenly didn’t matter because she loved him, too. 

Wyatt had never believed in fate, not before he knew that time travel existed. It had seemed like something people said to make themselves feel better about all the pain, anger and hatred in the world. 

_Fate_ , he thought, _was a security blanket that people held onto to help them make sense of why certain things happened._ He had been pragmatic and believed in what he could see, touch and taste for himself … fate was an intangible thing like a soap bubble once popped by little fingers that was gone forever. But ever since he learned about time travel and met the wonderfully knowledgeable and bossy historian in front of him, he had felt his disbelief in fate and destiny crumble like dry grass in a drought. 

_She_ had made him believe, had changed his mind. Just like he had told her to make her own future, she had helped him to see that some things _were_ meant to be and as he felt her hard knees press into his and saw the beauty of her eyes gleaming with happy tears, he knew that she was the reason why he _finally_ believed in himself and in that moment the years of unfathomable guilt and self-loathing that hung like a millstone around his neck dissolved into nothingness. He felt for the first time in his life what it meant to be as light as air.

“I love you, too,” she whispered as she finally put into words the truth that he could see shining on her face. “Not to be a copycat but … I should have said it a long time ago, so I’m saying it now.” 

Wyatt laughed, lifting his hand to her face like she had done to him only moments before, and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, “Just as long as you keep saying it, I think I can let it pass.”

Lucy’s smile brightened her face, her eyes crinkling with the hugeness of it and leaving Wyatt even more enamored of her. If she kept on smiling like that and saying those three words, he wasn’t sure how he would ever be able to leave her side again. 

—————

Rufus shifted his weight, leaning to sit down instead of kneeling on knees that still stung from their collision with the bricks beneath him. He tried to catch his breath, relief slowly outweighing the panic that had deepened as he watched Jessica’s bullet wound leak blood while he felt that same phantom sensation in his own chest. He felt like he was dragging his thoughts in, like a man thrown overboard is hoisted on deck, as he came back to the present moment.

Glancing to the side, he noticed Flynn, who leaned up against the building nonchalantly as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Maybe it seemed that way to him, but to Rufus it felt monumental and he knew that it would affect Wyatt and Lucy significantly as well. 

He turned his gaze back to Lucy and Wyatt, who were quietly talking. Rufus knew it was rude to be staring at them. His mom had taught him his manners when he younger and even if he didn’t always follow her teachings, it definitely beat looking at Jessica’s dead body, which was uncomfortably close to where he was seated in the dank alley. 

He wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but it was deathly quiet except for the hushed voices of Wyatt and Lucy. Flynn was standing down at the end of the alleyway, perhaps as a lookout until they could all get out of there without being accused of murder and thrown in prison. Something that was definitely not on Rufus’s bucket list, not _again_ anyway. 

Rufus pulled himself away from another thought tangent to glimpse Wyatt and Lucy moving closer, their faces open and as easy to read as a book. 

It was amazing to Rufus how they could say so much with just their expressions. Without even speaking he could see the love that they held for each other plain as day on their faces, but then he heard it: Wyatt’s confession. According to him, it was his second “I love you,” but Rufus couldn’t imagine a better outcome than he saw and heard in that moment: Lucy saying it back that she did love him, too! Rufus knew that he had been right all along and that if he could only push them together, they would see it themselves.

“ _Sometimes it pays to be right_ ,” Rufus thought to himself as he allowed himself to be helped up by a hurried Flynn.

“It’s probably best if we get out of here, _now_ ,” Flynn urged them on as he glanced over at Wyatt and Lucy where they sat with their arms wrapped around each other.


End file.
